


Cat out of the Bag

by TheTiniestGiant



Series: Cat out of the Bag [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BFF Varric, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Purple Hawke, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, immigrant hawke family, morally grey Hawke, more like morally dark dark grey hawke, no magic, poor communication, shady varric, slowish burn, soooo much pining from hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19731838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTiniestGiant/pseuds/TheTiniestGiant
Summary: Isabela rolled her eyes in the most dramatic fashion, but pulled out her phone. “Fine. My buddy Varric is looking for a new housemate, cheap too, since Fenris is moving out short notice.”“I’m scared to ask, but why is Fenris moving out?”Still texting, she didn’t look up. “Hawke keeps destroying his stuff and it’s not like Varric would ever give that idiot up.”“Who’s Hawke?”“Some stray Varric picked up a few years ago.”“So his pet? A cat?”Finally, Isabela glanced up at Anders, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she studied him. Then a sly smile spread across her face and sent chills down Anders' spine. "A bit feral, but you could call him his pet, yeah.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sup. 1. I first wrote this hawke for one of my inquisitors, but he was too much fun to just leave. wrote some canon fanfic before moving to the modern au for even _more_ fun. 2. I wouldn't call this refined but it should be a good laugh 3. there will be some violence in a couple of chapters and then some sexual situations in later chapters 4. thanks for reading

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?”

No, Anders would never expect that of Isabela. Her pity was in short supply and usually spent on herself.

“No, I was just hoping you might have an idea so I don’t end up living in a dumpster. Teach me to ask you for help.”

“Maybe take a job in one of those snazzy private practices instead of the free clinic where you get stabbed.”

“It was one time!”

“Stitch up your bleeding heart and get a real job. Isn’t top of your class and a residency at one of the best hospitals in the country supposed to mean something? Or you could, you know, actually apply for your veterans benefits.”

“Isabela.”

She rolled her eyes in the most dramatic fashion, but pulled out her phone. “Fine. My buddy Varric is looking for a new housemate, cheap too, since Fenris is moving out short notice.”

“I’m scared to ask, but why is Fenris moving out?”

Still texting, Isabela didn’t look up. “Hawke keeps destroying his stuff and it’s not like Varric would ever give that idiot up.”

“Who’s Hawke?”

“Some stray Varric picked up a few years ago.”

“So his pet? A cat?”

Finally, Isabela glanced up at Anders, eyes narrowed. For a moment, she studied him. Then a sly smile spread across her face and sent chills down Anders spine. "A bit feral but you could call him his pet, yeah.”

-

Varric’s house was… Nice. Suspiciously so. After years of hope and then crushing disappointment, Anders knew better than to trust first impressions, but the house was _so nice_. Beautiful really. A manor more than just a house, with an overgrown garden that made is seem magical rather than neglected. 

For the cheap rent he would be paying, it seemed much too good to be true. Still, Anders had to take the chance. Although in a conspicuously nice area, a bus stop within walking distance led right into the heart of the city. It took one car trip for Anders to move all his stuff. Isabela charged $100. It hardly even hurt handing it over.

“So long, sucker,” Isabela laughed before peeling out.

The infamous Varric exited the double doors less than a minute later scowling at his phone. He glanced up to Anders.

“Of course she left. She owes me $100 after Wicked Grace last Friday.”

“I’m Anders.”

“I heard. Varric. Nice to put a face to the name, the foolish do-gooder that fills our Isabela with disgust.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Fantastic, let me show you around.” He checked his watch, a gaudy ridiculously expensive looking thing, and gestured for Anders to follow. “Gotta make this quick. I got a thing with a guy, but feel free to look around once I’m gone.

Anders might have insisted Varric go ahead if he was in a hurry, that he could find his own way, but the moment they crossed the threshold Anders recognized the wisdom of a tour. Past the vestibule at least twice the size of Anders former bedroom, they entered the parlor. Enormous and open, a balcony overlooked the room. Sprawling staircases on either side led to the second floor.

Anders gaped. Varric smirked.

“Yeah, family house. Something else, right?”

“What the hell did your family do?”

“Boring shit, I assure you,” Varric waved the question away.

Anders doubted it.

At some point, Anders gave up trying to remember anything beyond the location of his room and the kitchen.

“So that’s the short tour. Anything else before I go?”

Really it spoke volumes of Anders sad lonely life that he could really only think of one thing.

“Isabela mentioned Hawke--”

“Shit. Of course she did. Look, he’s not as bad as she said. Okay, he might be, but he’s got his good points,” Varric defended his cat. “He hates new people in his space so he’s probably hiding right now. If you see him, don’t, uh, touch him or anything. It might take him a little to warm up to you, but he gets crazy affectionate, so sorry in advance.”

“I love cats.”

Varric paused to stare at him. He furrowed his brow before walking ahead with the tour. “Uh, okay. Sure, Blondie.”

“Blondie?”

Varric laughed. “You’re Blondie now. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

“You’ll do fine around here.”

-

Living with Varric was a strange experience overall. Anders saw him less than his slumlord at his old place. In fact, Anders wasn’t sure Varric even lived there full time. The man always seemed to be going somewhere or doing something with people he didn’t mention and Anders certainly didn’t know. One thing Anders did appreciate however, was for all the money Varric reeked of, he still drank at the same dump as Anders.

What Anders wasn’t sure he appreciated but was desperately grateful for, was the anonymous $100,00 donation to the clinic. Anders might have gone home and cried. Although certain Varric wouldn’t mention it and Anders was determined not to, he still struggled to think of how he should handle Varric’s generosity. At the height of flu season with so many sick children, it was a godsend.

Anders woke up exhausted. Despite ten straight days of work, he felt guilty for his one day off, but he knew his limits and he tested them. Dragging himself to the first floor, Anders cursed the ridiculous size of the house. Still, he had to eat something. Last night he took cereal out but hadn’t even managed to eat it.

Walking into the kitchen, Anders remembered he never put it away. The evidence was everywhere. Box knocked off the counter, cheerios had been scattered over the kitchen. Unexpectedly, so had dish soap.

“Damn it, Hawke,” Varric muttered. He pushed past Anders into the kitchen. 

Dressed casually in clothes worth more than the collective of Anders belongings, Varric opened the cabinet and withdrew a broom and dust pan. He began sweeping up. Despite the chore, he smiled more than scowled.

“Can’t leave anything out,” Varric explained, “especially food. Especially food he doesn’t like. He gets offended it’s food, but not food he wants.”

Automatically, Anders helped, wiping up the dish soap. “He has behavior problems?”

Varric snorted. “You could say that. He was like that when I got him.”

“Have you tried a spray bottle?”

Varric’s laugh was loud and genuinely amused as if Anders made a joke. “Yeah, actually, but it just made him worse. He’s vindictive like that.” Chuckling, Varric shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the bastard, but he does make his fair share of trouble.”

Anders couldn’t help, but smile. It was sweet to see, someone who loved their cat and put in effort. Anders knew better than most the trouble that came with adopting adult feral animals. Varric’s patience was truly commendable.

“I look forward to meeting him anyway.”

“You say that now.”

Although the new replacement roommate, Anders hesitated before asking, “Isabela said Hawke was the reason Fenris moved out.”

Instead of anger or annoyance, Varric sighed. “Of course she did. Still not sure exactly what happened. It had been great for a few months, but one day Fenris decided he didn’t want Hawke sleeping in his bed anymore and it kind of went downhill after that.”

What the hell. Who just kicked a cat out its sleeping spot after months of the same habit.

“Fenris sounds like a dick.”

Varric just laughed again. “You haven’t met Hawke.”

-

It was faint, but there was a warm spot on Anders' bed. The cup on his night stand had been knocked over and the clutter on his dresser messed with. Anders frowned. He doubled checked, on the floor too, before approaching Varric.

“Varric?”

Varric didn’t look up from his laptop. “What’s up, Blondie?”

“I think Hawke might have been in my room.”

Varric snapped his attention to Anders. “Shit. Did he break anything? I’ll pay for it. I’m--”

“No, no,” Anders laughed. “It’s fine. Nothing’s broken. I think he just took my earring.”

“Damn it, Hawke,” Varric shut his laptop and stood to go. “I’ll go find it. Sorry, he likes shiny things.”

“It’s no problem. I just hope he didn’t eat it.”

Laptop under his arm and out of his seat, Varric let out a dry laugh. “Me too, but I think we’re past the putting things in our mouth just because it fits stage.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “and Anders? Thanks. Not many people would be so patient.”

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Fucking Hawke better appreciate you.”

-

Three days later, Anders came home early to find Varric hauling a duffel bag out the door.

“Shit, Blondie. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Going somewhere, are you?”

“Business trip,” Varric scowled, irritated as always by his livelihood. “A week. Shouldn’t be longer, but if it is I’ll text you.”

Because of course the first thing on Anders mind was the cat, he asked, “what about Hawke?”

“Uh, yeah. About that. Without me here to entertain him he might bother you, but I left enough food for him and one of the neighbors feeds him. He gets loud when he’s hungry, but don’t let him fool you into giving him your food. There’s enough out for him.”

“I doubt I have anything he’d want.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty healthy for someone who doesn’t have two pennies to rub together, but he is willing to try something just because you’re eating it.”

Anders decided it was better not to mention one of his patients gave him the expired produce from her corner store every week.

“Fenris usually kicked him out to fend for himself.”

More proof Fenris was a dick.

“Seriously, if he gets annoying, just shove him off.”

“Don’t worry so much, Varric.”

A car much too expensive to be an uber pulled up. Varric took another moment to eye Anders warily.

“I have to. Hawke has a lot of trust issues, and Fenris kind of made it worse. He hasn’t shown himself to you yet and it’s making me a little nervous.”

Poor Hawke. Really, it was very sweet how worried Varric was.

“I promise I won’t kill Hawke.”

“You say that now.”

Truthfully, Anders hoped Hawke bothered him. He really missed having a cat. Earning a cat’s trust was something special as far as Anders was concerned and Fenris was such a dick.

“Good luck, Blondie.”

“We’ll survive.”

-

Moonlight filled the kitchen. In the light of the open fridge stood a man, drinking straight from the milk carton. Lean and wiry, he ignored Anders stare. Once done, he swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned the milk to the fridge. Then he looked to Anders. 

Eyes blacker than night, eyes that could have been dead and soulless looked him over. His features were sharp and unsettling, and the intensity of his assessment caused something more disturbing than anxiety to race up Anders’ spine.

Maybe if Anders wasn’t near collapse with exhaustion he would have had a more appropriate reaction than, a sad and resigned moaned.

A small smile, sweet and shy appeared on the intruder’s face, softening the killer look. Ducking his head, he closed the door to the fridge, cutting off the light and hiding any other tells. He jammed his hand through his hair and sauntered towards Anders in an awkward shuffle.

Anders tensed again. Shaking himself to action, he demanded, “who are you and how did you get in here?”

The man jerked to stop and his eyes shot from the floor to Anders. “I’m Max. With a key.” He frowned. No, not quite. It was if all joy slipped from him. “I’m Varric’s best friend.” In a small voice, he asked, “did he really not mention me?”

An unexpected urge came over Anders to lie if only to get such a pitiful look off the stranger’s face. Before he could consider the consequences of it, Anders did lie, “yeah, I just didn’t expect to see you in the middle of the night.”

“Why not?”

Anders paused, unsure if the guy was serious.

Max shrugged and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“Hold on one moment, won’t you?”

The guy nodded readily, as if eager to please, and began inching towards Anders once more. 

It might be 1AM but a man claiming to be Varric’s best friend who Anders knew nothing of had broken into the house like he belonged.

Anders shot of a text to Varric dripping with sarcasm. _Max is drinking milk straight from the carton._

Less than fifteen seconds later, Varric’s reply arrived. _Yell at him. I tell him not to do that all the time_

Max craned his neck to see the messages. Anders yanked the phone out of view. 

Max narrowed his eyes. This close, the black cut.

“Are you going to yell at me?”

“No.”

Max smiled so sweet and pure. “You’re so much better than Fenris.”

“You didn’t like Fenris?”

The question caused Max to shrink into himself. He whispered, “I love Fenris.”

Anders looked around the dark kitchen like an answer might appear. A conversation was happening that Anders wasn’t sure he understood.

Since Anders knew little to nothing about Fenris except how he treated cats, he tried, “Varric said he was mean to Hawke.”

“ _So mean_ ,” Max burst. “He’s _such a dick_.”

“I’m sorry?”

As if they had done it before, like it was common practice, Max leaned in and rested his head on Anders' shoulder. Anders froze. Either oblivious or ignoring Anders tensing, Max cuddled up closer and melted against him. Really, it was a testament to how long Anders had gone without any sort of affection he gave in almost immediately, letting Max press against him, hiding his face against Anders throat. 

If the scent of gin coming off of him had anything to do with it, at least Max had the excuse of being drunk for the more than casual contact. Gin, dirt, and was that-- something wet seeped into Anders’ clothes.

Doing his best not to be alarming, Anders asked, “Max, are you bleeding?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, breath warm and soft against Anders skin.

“Max, this feels like a lot of blood.”

“Not all of it is mine.”

“What.”

“I mean most of it is, but not _all_.”

Anders snapped back to crisis mod. Distangling Max from him, although he resisted, he eased him onto a stool.

“Can you sit up?”

“Yeah?”

Anders moved to find the light switch, but Max caught him by the shirt.

“You’re coming back, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Promise?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Cool.”

Max passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m in love with you and would die for you.”

Anders wasn’t unfamiliar with Nightingale Syndrome, but Max took it to the extreme. Although he seemed to go unconscious, he woke up as soon as his head hit the floor. The next ten minutes had consisted of Anders convincing Max to remain on the floor while he ran to his room and gathered all the medical supplies he could carry.

The following twenty minutes consisted of Anders performing minor surgery on a fully conscious Max Although he let out a few sounds of discomfort he seemed rather unperturbed by another person’s hands inside of him. He had to be on drugs. No one had that much pain tolerance. He talked almost the entire time.

“Anders?”

Anders didn’t really want to answer. Anders wanted to finish washing the blood off everything and pretend the night hadn’t happened, but he knew not answering would lead to something ridiculous like Max trying to stand up.

“Yes?”

“Don’t tell Varric.”

“Why--”

“I love you,” Max said again.

“Please stop that.”

“I loved you before you even met me.”

Anders sighed. 

“You don’t believe me, but I do,” Max insisted. With too much speed for a man who lost so much blood, he caught Anders wrist and squeezed tight. “Don’t tell Varric.”

Forcing himself not to wince at the strength of his grip, Anders twisted his wrist free. When Max reached for him again, Anders grabbed his hand to hold him still. For a moment Max stared at him as if in disbelief Anders would have the nerve to touch him despite Anders fingers stitching up a stab wound not ten minutes ago. Brow furrowed, he peered at Anders. Although unsure what his scrutiny meant, Anders held his stare.

Then Max wriggled his hand in Anders’, shifting it enough he could lace their fingers together. He beamed. Palm sticky with blood, Max held Anders’ hand tight in his. Dumbfounded, Anders let him. Max sighed in contentment and closed his eyes. 

Throat unreasonably tight, Anders couldn’t ask Max to let go. Feeling out of his mind, Anders proceeded to clean up with one hand until Max fell asleep. While certain he had a concussion, Anders knew he couldn’t help him on Varric’s kitchen floor. Carefully, he wormed his hand free. As quiet as he could be, Anders inched away and then stood.

Anders waited a moment, but Max didn’t stir. He let out a long breath. He should have done it sooner, but the urgency and his instinct overshadowed calling 911. Now that Max was stable, Anders could call a non emergency ambulance. After a moment of searching, Anders located his phone and then dialed from memory.

However, before he could even say hello, Max slammed into him. Dizzy with the force of the hit and the speed in which it came, it took Anders’ exhausted mind too long to process what was happening. Jacked up against the wall, Max held him by the throat with one hand. In his other hand, he held Anders’ phone, leaving bloody fingerprints on the screen as he hung it up. Tossing it aside, the screen shattered as it hit the floor.

“I told you not to call Varric,” Max growled low in his throat like a threatened animal might. Black eyes glared, as smothering as his hold.

Anders dug his nails into Max’s forearm with one hand and tried to pry himself free with the other. Heart pounding and struggling to breathe, he kicked out at the smaller man, but Max held tight, immovable in an effortless way that should have been impossible.

“Wasn’t,” Anders tried to choke out.

Cocking his head to the side, Max loosened his grip enough Anders could speak.

“Wasn’t calling Varric.”

“Who were you calling?” Max demanded.

“An ambulance.”

Max’s lip curled in a snarl. Squeezing tight once more, Max pulled him from the wall only to slam him again, banging Anders’ head hard enough Anders saw stars. Releasing him, Max stepped back, watching as Anders sunk to the floor.

“No ambulances. No hospitals. No calls. You don’t say my fucking name. Do you understand?”

After being strangled, breathing came painful, but Anders hardly felt it dragging in breath after breath of fresh air. Involuntarily, he flinched when Max crouched down in front of him. Eye to eye, Max leaned in.

Softly, almost kindly, he said, “do you understand?”

“Yes,” Anders barely managed, voice raw. He would have bruises in the shape of Max’s hand come tomorrow.

Max nodded before standing up once more. He moved easily, smooth and effortless, no giveaway of injury or pain. Letting out a frustrated sound, he dragged his bloody hands through his hair and then looked away. Anders closed his eyes, hoping Max would walk away by the time he opened them.

“I’m going,” Max said as casual as a roommate might mention to another. In the same tone, he added, “if you call Varric, cops, or an ambulance, I’ll cut your throat.”

This time he didn’t ask if Anders understood. Anders didn’t hear him leave, but when he opened his eyes five minutes later, Max was gone. On shaky legs, Anders stood. Not daring to wander the house with Max prowling, Anders collected his phone, now with a broken screen, and the messenger bag he dropped to the floor when he saw Max, and left the house.

-

Once on the bus to Isabela’s apartment, Anders called Varric.

“Max is a psychopath,” Anders said the moment Varric picked up. He hadn’t meant to, but that was the jist of what he needed to say, and the truth of it. Voice still raw, it hurt when Anders cleared his throat.

Varric had the gull to chuckle. “That’s the general consensus.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Anders spoke louder than he should for both his injury and public transport.

“Come on, Blondie, you had to have picked up he wasn’t right by now.”

“He tried to strangle me!” Anders tried to shout into the phone. At least this late none of the other passengers wasted their attention on Anders steady decline to a nervous breakdown.

“Sounds like he succeeded,” Varric muttered. Then he sighed. “Look, I’ll talk to him.”

“No! He said he’d cut my throat if I called you.”

After a pause long enough for Anders’ anxiety spike to the point right before tears, Varric said in a deliberately calm voice, “please tell me you left the house.”

“Oh god, he actually would,” Anders moaned.

“Anders, you need to leave now,” Varric said, all amusement gone.

Anders groaned. “I did,” he assured Varric, “I’m on a bus to Isabela’s. I suppose I should let her know I’m coming.”

Even over the phone, Varric’s relief was tangible. “Okay, good. Just wait a couple days for him to calm down before heading back.”

“Are you insane? I’m not going back!”

Then the conversation took a turn Anders never could have anticipated.

“Five thousand.”

“What?”

“Five thousand dollars straight to an account of your choice if you go back on Thursday. Hell, I’ll give it to you in cash.”

“What?” Anders repeated stupidly.

“I know it sounds crazy--”

“It is crazy!”

“Blondie--”

“You’re not talking me into this!”

-

Anders couldn’t believe Varric talked him into it.

When Anders arrived at Isabela’s he found her door locked and her cell phone out of service. Typical Isabela. He had no right to complain, especially when her time off the grid usually procured smuggled antibiotics and vaccines. Anders spent Tuesday and Wednesday nights sleeping in his clinic and praying Max wouldn’t hunt him down.

Early Thursday morning, the fog yet to rise in the city, Anders received a thumbs-up emoji from Varric, a deposit for $5,000 in the clinic’s funds, and $5,000 deposit in his own bank account despite never giving Varric his account number or routing number. For more reasons than he wanted to dwell on, Anders could have cried.

If anything, the money made it worse because Anders, and likely Varric too, was one hundred percent aware Varric could have talked him into going back for free.

He was such a sucker. 

Eleven hours later, Anders stood in front of Varric’s--his house, stomach nauseous with dread and cursing himself as much as Varric. He cursed Isabela for good measure. Of all the things she could have warned him about, she chose a cat instead of Varric’s psychotic best friend.

Oh god. Hawke. Another wave of anxiety seized Anders. How could he have forgotten Hawke? The poor cat was in there with that psychopath. 

It spoke volumes that his concern for a cat drove him forward more than money. Determined, Anders strode towards the door, faking calm, faking confidence. He had faced worse with the Wardens. It was unlocked as he left it on Monday night, in too much of a panic to remember. When he closed it behind him, he kept it unlocked, just in case he needed to rush again.

Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of Max. Anders nerves increased. He forced himself not to creep, but to walk with the right he had. In the late afternoon sun, bloody footprints from two days ago stood out on the hardwood floor. Anders followed them into the kitchen to find the puddle where he stitched Max up dried on the tile and bloody handprints on the fridge handle.

Anders hadn’t really expected Max to clean up, but to see it all in daylight was jarring.

Something tiny in Anders rebelled, saying he should just leave the mess for Varric to clean. In the end, sanitation won and Anders spent the last of daylight scrubbing the kitchen and floors clean. Once done, he flopped onto the squishy couch, much too expensive for someone dirty from a day’s work, and groaned.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep there if not for the prickle of awareness that ran down his spine. Anders stiffened, but didn’t dare move, not with Max slinking from the shadows, black eyes locked on him.

Anders shivered at the intensity of his focus. He couldn’t look away, like a rabbit caught by a snake. Unexpectedly, Max dropped his eyes to the floor. Head hanging as if ashamed and shoulders hunched, Max sidled towards Anders.

Frozen in place, Anders tried to breathe evenly, and remember all of Varric’s advice and promises.

“Sorry I broke your phone,” Max said, voice wavering like he might cry.

Before his brain caught up with his mouth, Anders barked a sharp laugh of incredulity. “ _That’s_ what you’re sorry for?”

Max stuck his lip out in a pout, but still avoided Anders’ eyes. “Didn’t mean for you to stitch me up either. You’re really nice.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Anders grit out, attempting to remain patient if not just calm.

Confusion clouding his features, Max frowned and glanced to Anders once more. “What’s the point?”

_Pick your battles, Blondie. He doesn’t._

Sitting up, Anders leaned rubbed his forehead. He let out a long breath. “Nothing. Nevermind. It’s fine.”

Max inched forward, steps uneven and awkward, like a vulture walking. Very deliberately, Anders didn’t recoil, even if he couldn’t help the way he tensed. He almost cringed when Max climbed onto the couch beside him.

“Sorry,” Max repeated, quiet and sullen. 

“Don’t mention it,” Anders muttered.

Very slowly, Max leaned towards Anders until his head was almost on Anders’ shoulder. Resisting every urge to fling himself away and put as much space as he could between them, Anders remained perfectly still as Max rested his head on Anders and then leaned the rest of his weight on him too. Warm and smelling of soap instead of blood, it could have been a comforting weight.

Anders swallowed thickly. Max sighed.

-

After that Anders saw Max everyday. He came and went more frequently than Anders, but more often than not, if he was in the house, he sought Anders out. At first it frayed Anders’ nerves, waiting for the sudden change in mood or aggression, but since that night, Max had been nothing, but sweet. 

Anders tried to keep his guard up. He reminded himself of their first encounter, and just how dangerous Varric implied he was.

But Max smiled a shy smile and then hid his face as if embarrassed, and like a sucker Anders felt his heart warm at the earnesty. Skittish at first, Max began bringing Anders gifts somehow exactly to his tastes, his favorite foods, an earring that could have been identical to the one Hawke stole, a new phone much nicer than the last but still cheap enough Anders couldn’t refuse it.

He hated for Anders to thank him verbally, but Anders came to learn Max loved physical contact instead. He would slink into whatever room Anders was in, pretending he wasn’t interested in Anders’ attention at all, only to be winding his way around Anders in minutes. Sometimes he would put himself between Anders and whatever held Anders’ focus until he acknowledged him.

Almost like a cat in want of attention, Max would nudge Anders until he paid him mind. Anders would ruffle his hair, allow Max to lean on him, or rub small circles on his back.

Anders knew it wasn’t normal. Anders was pretty sure he shouldn’t be encouraging him. Thinking it all through, putting all the information in order, he was almost certain Max was a madman who fixated on him and should Anders reject him things would go back to bad very very quickly.

Anders was absolutely without a doubt an attention starved idiot because he liked it. He liked Max. As much attention and time he spent with Anders, he wasn’t overbearing, often leaving when Anders would have him stay. Anders didn’t know what it said about him that he would have preferred a psychopath’s company to being left alone with his ugly thoughts and worries.

Stupid and naive, Anders berated himself. Mentally he prepared for when the switch flipped and Max went from sweet to feral. Anders could only hope Varric would be there to deal with it.

So of course it was the night before Varric was due to return it happened.

The last of his ten days before a break, Anders trudged in to a dark house. It didn’t mean much, Max never using lights and the sun yet to set, but an electric tension ran through Anders as he passed through the vestibule. 

The air seemed too still, the room pressured, like waiting for a storm to break. Anders didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out in a shout.

From over the balcony dropped a body, crashing through the glass coffee table. Max followed, vaulting over the banister and landing on the _living person_ he just threw from the above story. Anders heard the crack of his sternum when Max landed on him. As if the glass was nothing, Max kneeled on his chest. Brass knuckles on his fingers, he began beating the man’s face in.

“Max,” Anders hollered lurching forward.

If Max heard him, he didn’t respond, cursing in a language Anders didn’t recognize. By the time Anders reached him, Max punched the man’s face to mush, flesh ground and bone shattered to something unrecognizable as human. Although futile and stupid considering what he was capable of, Anders grabbed Max and tried to drag him off.

Tried.

As if Anders wasn’t there, Max stood up, stepping on what had once been a face and walking forward. Anders released him, the only other option being dragged after. Quicker than Anders ever saw a person move, Max was back up the stairs.

From above Anders heard a woman scream and then gunfire. Without a plan, Anders bolted up the stairs after him. He ran down the hall, towards the same sound of brutal violence, fumbling for his phone.

He jerked to a stop ten feet before the doorway. Anders stared at the phone in his hand, the replacement Max bought him after breaking his old. Like someone else controlled his body, Anders returned the phone to his pocket. Calmly, at a slow pace, Anders followed after Max.

Standing in the doorway, Anders watched as Max snapped the neck of a woman with a sharp twist. 

In the corner slumped a man, glowering with hate rather than fear. Leg bent at a horrific angle, as if the knee had been shattered and turned, he made no attempt to get away. He clutched at side with one hand, the other broken to the point his fingers flopped.

From the dead woman’s grip, Max retrieved a gun, he checked the ammo before looking at the man bleeding out in the corner. He said something in the same strange language as before, dead calm. In reply the man spit blood. 

Max pointed the gun at him. Anders drew a sharp breath, but Max only gestured with it towards where Anders stood. For a choking moment, Anders thought it was meant for him before realizing Max pointed towards the door.

He spoke again, sharper. This time, though his face was twisted with hate and pain, the man began dragging himself towards the door. Anders stomach turned. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as the man crawled towards him, towards freedom. 

Max shot him in the back of the head. The exit of the bullet splattered his brains over Anders shoes and pants. Ears ringing from the gunfire, Anders barely heard himself say “oh god.” The same detachment that put the phone in his pocket, that kept him still instead of trying to help these people Max killed so savagely, kept Anders from saying more. He turned his eyes to Max.

Despite Anders knowing without a doubt she was dead, Max shot the woman in the head too. Instinctively knowing what was next, Anders stepped back to let him by. Standing a floor above, Max aimed the gun down over the balcony and nailed what was left of the first man’s face.

Without looking back to Anders, Max spoke. “Call Varric. Tell him the Ciriane double crossed us. If he doesn’t pick up, just say ‘Hawke was right.’”

Before Anders could ask if the cat was some sort of code, Max turned around and met his eyes. For the first time, his expression matched emptiness of his eyes.

“Go in your room. Don’t come out. People will be here to clean up and it’s better you don’t see each other.”

“Where are you going?” Anders croaked, speaking harder than it should have been.

“I have a different sort of cleaning to do.”

-

Hours later, after leaving Varric a voicemail of three words, after Anders heard the mysterious cleaning crew leave, after picking up his phone a hundred times to dial numbers he would never call, Anders woke up to Max in his room.

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he had done it a thousand times before, as if he expected Anders would welcome it, Max climbed into bed beside him.

And damn him, Anders did welcome it.

Although he didn’t move, didn’t turn over, didn’t say anything, Anders was grateful for the warmth of Max as he curled up beside him, resting his head between his shoulder blades.

“Varric won’t be coming home for another week or two,” he said quietly.

Anders swallowed down his questions, but couldn’t repress the worry.

Max read it easily enough. “He’s safe.” Fingers curling tight in Anders’ clothes, for the first time Max’s voice wavered. “I love you.”

Anders was _fucked_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think. thanks for reading


	3. Chapter 3

After a night of fitful sleep and dark dreams, Anders woke before sunrise. It was his day off. He could have rolled over and tried for more. “Tried” was the keyword. Better he get up. Better he occupy himself.

In the past week and a half Anders had saved a man from bleeding out, assaulted by the same man, developed affection for him, and then witnessed him murder three people. Arguably he was within his rights, or would be if he had been the homeowner. Or maybe it would qualify as manslaughter. Those people, whoever they were, came into the house.

Max hadn’t invited them. Of that Anders was sure. Despite the short amount of time since Anders learned more than a few _quirks_ of Max. He didn’t like people near the house, not cars on the road, not pedestrians, not even the mailman. When a neighbor walked their dog by the house Anders thought he might threaten them. 

Max hoarded. Small things, worthless by anyone else’s standards, Max kept tiny stashes around the house Anders never noticed until Max stuck something new in one. He picked at his skin, smatterings of blood on Anders sheets the latest evidence. The spot beside him was still warm, but Max was gone, Anders never even hearing him leave.

Really, it was a testament to how fast the situation had gone downhill from Anders original poor decision that he felt crestfallen Max was not there. He didn’t want to face the day. Anders debated going to the clinic despite his day off. He shoved the thought away. He hadn’t even managed out of bed yet. He could figure it out once he could at least think beyond regret.

Before leaving his room, Anders braced himself, only to find the house in pristine condition. No bodies, no blood, the glass tabletop had been replaced and the smell of chamomile tea wafted through the house. 

Anders anxiety irrationally increased. He headed downstairs. What else was he supposed to do? Muffled voices came from the kitchen, distinctly Max’s by the sporadic changes in tempo, timber, and volume. The other voice sounded distantly familiar, not personally, but he had heard before.

“Hawke, you know I love you,” said a voice, wary but chiding, “but you need to be careful.”

Anders perked up. He tried not to think about how the possibility of meeting the illusive Hawke instantly cheered him up despite witnessing the brutal murder of three people by his housemate’s best friend. Although it was beginning to seem as though Max was an official resident rather than hanging out.

Max always laughed sweet, too sharp, and a little mad. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course Aveline. No captain’s favorites. The day you catch me jaywalking, behind bars it is.

It was a name Anders knew. Captain Aveline Vallen of the local precinct, notorious for rooting out corruption, now stood in Varric’s kitchen with a murderer. For a long time Anders tried to ignore how shady Varric was, but suddenly it was a much more pressing issue.

“I’m serious, Max. I know you two think you’re clever--”

“Fuck, Aveline. I know,” Max snapped, “it’s not like I’m pissing on the courthouse steps. Not that you let that go either. I had to pay $500 and got one hundred hours of community service.”

“Varric paid that $500 and you played with puppies at the shelter for a week.”

“I paid my debt to society.”

“And stop sending letters to Agent Rutherford. You’re lucky he’s not pressing charges.”

“Those could be from anyone!”

“You signed your name, Hawke.”

“I love you, Aveline,” he said in such a sweet voice, warm and vulnerable.

Anders’ stomach turned. Braving the conversation that felt uncomfortable just overhearing, Anders stepped into the kitchen.

He should really be used to it by then, but Anders staggered back when Max slammed into him, slinging him back into the front hall and against the wall with a thump. Hand over Ander’s mouth, Max smiled up at him. Frozen stiff, Anders stared down wide eyed.

“Think,” he said softly, still smiling, before stepping back. 

It took a moment for Anders to register the woman who appeared beside them, expression stone and eyes suspicious. The glare was for Max, not Anders. Then she looked him up and down.

“Doctor Anders, yes? You run the clinic downtown.”

Anders ripped his attention from the black pits of Max’s eyes boring holes in his soul to stare at Aveline. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Yes, that’s me. Uh, Captain. Have we met?”

She shook her head, but before she could answer, Max shoved himself between them. Back to Anders, Max fell into a fighting stance like a boxer. 

“Go away, Aveline. Anders is mine and I love him.”

Despite the countless times Max had repeated the sentiment since he met him, Anders heart unexpectedly stuttered at hearing it said to another person.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Anders tried to explain.

Aveline tensed, expression turning dark. “Are you okay? Does anybody know you’re here? Do you want to leave?”

Anders blinked “What?”

Max bristled. “Fuck, Aveline, I didn’t kidnap him. Have some faith.”

“Uh, no. I rent from Varric.”

As quickly as her grave concern came, it passed. “Ah, that’s a relief.” She pursed her lips and then asked, “Does he have a renter’s license?”

“Er.” Anders furrowed his brow. He didn’t even sign anything. Retrospectively the entire thing sounded insane. Anders just moved in without even meeting the guy or seeing the place, and Varric left fifteen minutes after a short tour.

Max jammed his hands through his hair let out an unintelligible frustrated noise. “Oh my god, Aveline, get out. You’re embarrassing me.”

“As if you ever had shame.” 

It almost sounded affectionate. Max half turned away and hunched his shoulders, scowling at the floor.

“But fine. It’s better I go now before I witness anything we'd both regret.” Reaching into her jacket, she withdrew a leather card case and pulled out a business card. Then she handed it to Anders. “If you suspect any trouble or,” she deliberately paused to narrow her eyes at Max, “feel threatened in any way, give me a call.”

Anders spared Max a nervous glance, but Max was too busy sulking to notice either of them. He tried not to grimace as he accepted the card. For lack of any other etiquette when a police captain was leaving a house you rent from a shady “businessman” and his psychotic best friend, Anders escorted her to the door.

Max did not, vanishing into the depths of the house. Without his intense scrutiny, Anders found himself asking, “so why are you here exactly?”

She drew her lips in a thin line, but after a moment, Aveline answered. “Just checking in on Hawke.”

“You, the police captain, are concerned about Hawke?”

“It’s better he’s not left to his own devices.”

-

Anders spent the rest of the morning anxious. The anticipation of the inevitable conversation, or rather confrontation, with Max gnawed at his stomach and frayed his nerves. By noon Anders had to remind himself he had matured past drinking to deal with his problems.

By then it occurred to him Max might not even be in the house. Considering how silent and quick Max moved and the enormous size of the house, Anders wouldn’t be able to find out save calling his name. Of course calling attention to himself meant that Anders would have Max’s attention. The flutter in his stomach wasn’t all dread. 

That was not something Anders wanted to examine.

He called Varric.

“The police captain was here.”

“Oh? How is Aveline? Did Donnic take her somewhere nice for their honeymoon? She never answers my texts unless it has to do with Hawke.”

“Does everyone care about Hawke that much?” Not that Anders was going to judge anyone for being invested in a cat, but Hawke seemed to draw out concern disproportionate to the average adopted cat.

“Blondie, I don’t know how you haven’t caught on yet, but he’s really hard not to care about. Love or hate, it’s really hard not to care when Hawke is in a room.”

“Is he, uh, going to be okay with…” Anders gestured with his hand despite Varric not being able to see, “this?” When did the topic change from the police captain casually talking to the madman at the scene of a triple homicide to the cat?

Varric snorted. “He loves Aveline. He slept in the back of her undercover vehicle for a week during a stakeout.”

Despite edging along the “don’t ask Varric what he does” line he set for himself, Anders asked, “how did you end up friends with a police captain?”

Varric just chuckled. “You got it backwards. She’s Hawke’s friend. Don’t think he would have survived long enough to meet me without her.”

That…. That was ridiculously sweet. Again, Anders couldn’t quite figure out how a cat influenced such different people in such real ways. He really did want to meet Hawke.

“I know what you’re thinking, Blondie, but she’s not a crooked cop.”

That was not what Anders was thinking, but it was based much more in real world consequences, so he returned to the matter at hand.

“So you’re saying Max invited the straight and narrow police captain into a crime scene to have tea with blood still under his nails?”

“I don’t know, Anders. I’m not there. You are.”

Right. Rubbing his forehead, Anders sighed. “Right, sorry. He’s just.”

“A little intense. I know.” Varric sounded like he was smiling, hardly pitying. “It’s why I don’t keep caffeine in the house, but hell, he’s been pretty good for you so far.”

_“That’s good?”_

“Listen, Blondie, I gotta run, but you and Hawke have fun on your day off. Give him a popsicle and he’ll die for you.”

“What does Hawke--” The line going dead cut Anders’ question off. Lowering his phone to his lap, he stared at the screen in a futile hope Varric might call back. He wasn’t sure exactly what Varric could say or do to help the situation, but someone should deal with something and Anders was not that person.

“Was that Varric?” Max asked, voice soft and tentative.

Ander jerked back in surprise, flinging the phone at Max out of instinct. He caught it and looked at the screen himself as if it had been Anders intention to pass it off. He frowned at the phone before offering it back to Anders.

Once Anders accepted the phone, Max caught his wrist in his hand. He squeezed just enough Anders froze.

“You called him.” 

Anders’ blood turned to ice in his veins.

“I wanted to talk too,” Max sulked, dropping Anders’ wrist. Scuffing his barefoot on the floor, Max jammed his hands under his armpits and glared at nothing.

Anders could breathe again.

Head down, Max slunk closer to him. Against his better judgement, Anders stayed in place. With barely inches between them, Max leaned his weight against Anders and grumbled under his breath. Entirely unequipped to deal with his current life situation, Anders went on instinct. 

Awkward and uncertain, Anders raised his hands to place them on Max’s back in a vaguely comforting manner. Max flinched at the first touch, hunching his shoulders and arching his back so he curled against Anders, but he didn’t pull away. Once Anders’ hands settled on him, Max pressed more of his weight against him.

The grumbling had gone to be replaced with quick short breaths, as if in distress.

“Max?”

He didn’t answer.

“Max,” Anders said gently, “Are you okay?”

“I love you, Anders,” he said, almost a whimper.

“Please stop saying that.”

-

Max slept in his bed again.

This time Max didn’t slip into his bedroom late at night. No, Max followed Anders through the door and climbed onto the bed before Anders could even ask what he was doing.

“No. Get out.”

“I want to sleep with you.”

“Max, no.” 

Anders tried to remain calm, tried to keep his voice even and neutral instead of yelling. Max looking up at him, crestfallen, dark eyes oh-so-sad, could easily break his resolve. The realization was like a sucker punch. Anders wanted to avoid upsetting Max because he was concerned of hurting his feelings, not his wrath should Anders anger him.

In his head Anders flipped through the DSM trying to find what the fuck came over him. During Anders internal struggle, Max tugged off his ragged sweatshirt and then burrowed under the blankets.

“Are you really going to sleep in your jeans?”

“I thought you’d be mad at me if I freeballed in your bed.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“Go put some on!”

“No, I mean I don’t have any at all.”

“Why!”

“I don’t know. They’re all gone.”

“Jesus.”

Despite all good sense, Anders lie in bed, Max a warm ball of comfort against his back. Easier than he had in months, Anders fell asleep. He only woke once to the sound of Max crying in his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

“Anders?”

“With a patient,” Anders muttered.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Mrs. Daferdy asked, patting his head as she did.

Realizing he spoke to himself before, Anders cleared his throat and spoke up to answer Lirene, “I’m with a patient.”

Mrs. Daferdy was the last of the day. Twice a month Anders kept the clinic open late specifically to monitor her lungs. The old lady worked afternoons and evenings as a nanny.

“Yeah, well you have another.”

No he didn’t. He locked the doors. “No I don’t.”

“Darling, you have to speak up,” Mrs. Daferdy patted his cheek.

Sighing, Anders straightened up and put his stethoscope over his neck. This time he raised his voice to Mrs. Daferdy required leaves.

“You're doing well, but keep taking your inhaler,” he reminded her. “Come back in two weeks.”

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t miss seeing a cute young thing like you.” Spry for her age, she hopped off the examination table, holding her clutch with both hands, and moseyed on out. 

“Anders,” Lirene yelled now, a sharp edge to her voice.

Closing his eyes, Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The day was too long two hours in. Ten hours later, still too long, with too many sick people too scared and too poor to go anywhere else.

“Anders,” Carlie hissed, standing in the doorway, “get your ass out here and deal with him. He’s kind of freaking us out.”

Nervous energy shot down his spine. Lirene and Carlie dealt with gangbangers, drug addicts, the mentally ill, and just about every other kind. If someone freaked them out, Anders expected to be freaked out too.

Carlie on his tail, Anders headed towards the lobby. “what’s he doing?”

Carlie hesitated to answer. “Well, he’s not actually doing anything. He. Just. Gives bad vibes.”

Oh god.

Max.

Sure enough, Anders turned the corner to find Max slouching in a waiting room chair, jiggling his leg, and staring at the ceiling. One hand was occupied picking at the inner wrist of the other arm. The other hand picked at a hole in his jeans.

Simply being in his presence after a few hours apart was enough to send static over Anders’ skin. 

Anders found himself muttering again, but this time with someone near him that could hear. “It’s fine. You two head home. I’ll...” Anders paused. What was he going to do? “I know him. It’s fine.”

Raising her brow, Carlie crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem happy to see him.”

Anders sighed and looked back to Max. “You wouldn’t be either if you knew him.”

From his otherside Lirene jabbed him in the abdomen. “Do you want me to call someone to get him out?”

“No!” Anders lurched, aborting his kneejerk reaction to stop her physically once his brain caught up. Deliberately untenseing, Anders lowered his voice. “No, uh, don’t do that. Just go ahead home.”

Anders didn’t need anymore blood on his conscience. His people deserved better than to be part of it too. At some point Anders started to feel as though everything Max did was his fault. It was irrational, Anders dropped into this mad situation and unable to anticipate anything Max would do, but people died and Anders watched it happen.

Max slept in his bed.

Anders groaned. Carlie gave him a skeptical look, but Lirine accepted it with a sigh, likely chalking it up to every other weird thing about Anders over the years. She nudged Carlie towards the back rooms too. Gathering his wits, Anders straightened up and forced himself to walk into the lobby.

Max stilled. His eyes tracked Anders as he walked, never blinking, stare never faltering. The closer he came, the more details Anders took note of. Black grime streaked down his throat and stained the collar of his hoodie. Anders didn’t need to be a doctor to know the splotch of dark red on his abdomen and down his thigh was blood.

“Max.”

“I pulled my stitches,” Max informed him, voice the same impassive cold when he threatened Anders. The same voice he spoke in after killing those people. His bashfulness was gone, replaced with a blank face and pallor.

He didn't tell Anders how he ripped his stitches. Anders didn’t want to know. “Come back and I’ll redo them.”

He didn’t attempt to lecture him. Max had enough scars on his body to indicate his experience with such things and he seemed unbothered. Anders knew the injury, knew the kind of pain he should be in and the damage that would cause others to hobble, but Max stood up seemingly effortless. He followed Anders with a smoother gait that he did normally.

Opening the door to the second exam room, Anders held it to let Max pass. Instead Max stopped walking and stared at Anders silently. For a moment Anders stood there staring back, brow furrowed in confusion. Max gave a small sharp nod.

Ah. If only to move the process along, Anders gave in and walked in first. Max waited for him to move to the middle of the room and turn around before following. His eyes swept around the room. Then he locked the door. Anders’ heart flipped with the sound of the bolt.

Despite how on edge Max made him feel, the clinic was Anders territory and there was comfort in the familiar, a sense of control. Waving towards the table, he went to the sink to wash his hands.

“Sit on the table,” he instructed first. Although reluctant to say it considering it was Max of all people, Anders was still a doctor and still would treat him as best he could with as much professionalism as he could, so he said, “undress so I can work.”

If Max did as he said it was dead silent. Anders didn’t look to check. One step at a time. Once done collecting the tools he would need, washing his hands, and pulling on gloves, he turned to deal with the next step.

Somehow Max doing what he said didn’t make anything about it better. Blood, everywhere. The stab wound had grown to a tear from right above his hip down the furrow. His left side had been shredded, shoulder, bicep, down his forearm, ribs, down his hip and thigh. Road burn. 

“Jesus, Max,” Anders breathed out the words, barely audible even to himself. “How are you still standing?”

Max shrugged, causing more blood to well up from half formed scabs.

“Shit.” 

Anders opened his mouth to call for Lirene for assistance before she could leave. Like he heard Anders’ thoughts, Max’s face shifted from blank to furious in an instant. Anders understood just as quick. He let out the breath and closed his mouth. Max nodded, face blank once more. Mouth in a tight line, Anders sat himself on the stool, and started wiping away the worst of the blood.

Although it took convincing, Max shoving off his hands and making indignant noises, Anders managed to get Max to lie down. He nearly laughed when he caught himself wishing they were at the house, remembering how much less tense it had been. There would have been a shower to clean him off. He could have heated up the room.

At least here Anders had antibiotics. 

This time wide awake, Max assisted with Anders directions, picking out the torn stitches, disinfecting, pressing the wound together while Anders sutured it closed. Max didn’t flinch when the needle went in. He didn’t look away as if he didn’t trust Anders’ hands.

With the most dire wound cared for, Anders prepped to care for the rest of him. “Roll on your side.”

Again, Max hesitated, reluctant to show his back.

With nothing else to offer, Anders spoke softly, “let me help you, Max.”

Max didn’t meet his eyes when he finally gave in. He still didn’t speak.

Much to Anders’ relief, the scraps were much more shallow that he first worried. Still the spread of it from his back to his side, the force that must have hit him, was enough for Anders to worry about what could have happened to his internal organs. He cleaned, he bandaged the best he could while Max lie there still as stone.

“I need you to sit up while I lay a clean sheet down,” Anders explained, “I need to check for internal bleeding.”

“No,” Max choked the single word out.

Anders paused at the distress in his voice, hands hanging in the air. Max curled up in a ball, refusing to look to Anders.

Faced with the new impasse, Anders swallowed and then tried again, gently. “Max--

“No,” he repeated, more upset than before, this time closer to angry. “Go away, Anders.”

“What?” The ridiculousness of the order threw him off. Baffled, he said, “I’m trying to help you.”

“You did,” Max growled. “I’ll pay you back later. Go away.”

Now annoyed, Anders ordered, “Quit being stubborn and roll over.”

“No,” Max’s tone turned into a pout.

“Why?” Anders demanded, irritated. Still, the pettiness of arguing and childishness of it eased some of the tension in Anders’ chest.

“You’ll be mad at me,” Max whined.

Considering how completely unconcerned about Anders’ anger or emotions in general, not just the last half hour but the past week and a half, Anders could not imagine what possibly occurred to Max in the last fifteen minutes.

As much as he wanted to say “fuck it” and although he suspected Max would rather die than go to a hospital, Anders nature refused to let it go without checking.

“I promise I won’t be mad unless you bleed out internally because you won’t let me check.” After a beat of silence, Anders grit out a “please.”

With an over dramatic sigh and then grumbling, Max rolled himself over. Leaning back on his elbows, he glared at Anders fierce enough Anders might have flinched if he wasn’t so annoyed. Instead he glared back.

As sarcastic as he could be, Anders said, “try not to rip my throat out if something--”

Like a car with bad brakes, Anders’ brain screeched and then slammed into concrete. Up until that point medical professionalism and concern out weighed everything else. It had been enough to block out the questions of how the injuries occur, to block out the fact Max came here, that Max threatened him just by being, that Max killed people and was arrogant enough to assume Anders would help him anyway.

Up until that point, Anders blocked out Max’s doting attention and unnatural attachment, Max continuously professing his love, Max sleeping in his bed.

But right there, Max bloodied but unaffected, naked in the exam room, it became very personal. Dick erect, Max met Anders eyes, glaring and unashamed.

Suddenly, Anders wasn’t looking at injuries, wasn’t a doctor with a patient. Suddenly, clinical became intimate. Not for the first time, but this time in a much more real way, Anders realized how unfairly attractive Max was. For as many scars as it carried, Max’s body was lean and sinewy, honed to artistic perfection for violent means. Sharp and unsettling, his face couldn’t be called handsome, but every expression was mesmerizing. Eyes with the draw of a black hole held Anders in place.

Anders knew he was staring. What a beautiful cock. Oh, god. Anders couldn’t believe he thought it. It was but-- no.

He could feel the intensity of Max’s glare on him. Struggling to come up with something to say, Anders swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. Bullshit about how it wasn’t an uncommon reaction, perfectly natural despite it being nothing of the sort. No one should be that turned on with that sort of blood loss, in that sort of pain.

Anders decided not to say anything. Instead he pressed his fingers gently against Max’s solar plexus.

“You’re mad at me,” Max accused. 

Too loud, Anders tried to deny it. “No, I’m not--”

“You’re mad at me even though you said you wouldn’t be.”

“I’m not mad!” Anders denied vehemently this time.

“I told you I love you and now you’re mad at me.”

Anders pressed a little lower and Max drew his breath in a sharp hiss, but by the twitch of his hips Anders knew it had nothing to do with pain. Hands balled into tight fists, a muscle strained his thigh, and there was a tick in his jaw.

“That has nothing to do with this,” Anders snapped. It didn’t especially since it wasn’t true. “Stop saying it.”

“You’re touching me,” Max said it like an accusation.

“Touching isn’t inherently sexual and neither is love,” Anders tried to be patient, but his temper and his face were heating up explaining it to an adult.

“You never listen!” Max burst. Struggling upright, Max shoved Anders hands off. He tore his eyes away to look around until he spotted his blood soaked shirt now stiff. He reached for it. “You act like you know better than me. Always telling me no. Always telling me ‘don’t say that,” his voice became muffled as he started to pull the shirt over his head.

Anders grabbed it from the back and tore it away. “Don’t put that back on. You’ll give yourself an infection.”

“I don’t care,” Max raised his voice. “You don’t take me seriously.”

Ignoring him, Anders threw the shirt in the biohazard bin and then went to the cabinet for scrubs. When he turned around Max was attempting to get his jeans over his leaking cock. Tossing the folded scrubs on the table, Anders pressed his hand on Max’s chest to shove him back onto the exam table.

“Just hold still for a moment,” Anders ordered, attempting to be stern, but the strain of the day and anxiety that come with being around Max came through.

“Why?” Max was shouting now. His hands had let go of the pants to cling to Anders shirt. “You don’t want me here anyway.”

Anders cringed. He wasn’t wrong. He felt Max’s grip tighten, fingers twisting in the cloth.

Anders expected an outburst to follow, but instead Max dropped his voice low, heat like a punch in the gut. “If you just said ‘yes,’ if you just let me--” His voice had grown so tight he had to draw a pained breath. Quiet, voice wrecked, he said “If you would just let me, I could make you feel so good, Anders.”

Anders didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Wide eyed, he stared down at Max’s pleading eyes, unable to come up with anything. Tipping his head back further, Max bit his lip and spread his legs wider from his sitting position. He let out a groan.

No.

When Anders began to turn away Max released him instantly. He walked towards the door. He ripped his gloves off, balling them up , and whipping them across the room. Without looking back, he unlocked the door, opened it to walk out, and then slammed it behind him.

Furious for a reason he couldn’t yet articulate, Anders stalked down the hall, leaving behind a dirtied room.

Fuck. What was he supposed to do with this? What was he supposed to do with the obscene series of images of Max now burned into his brain, burning the rest of him. How was he supposed to live with himself when he couldn’t stop thinking about what if he stayed in the exam room and said “yes” to Max? Just the memory of his voice sent heat slithering through him.

Not that a lock would stop Max if he decided to follow him, but Anders locked his office door behind him. He dropped to his desk chair, exhaustion taking everything out of him, but this itching emotion not angry enough for piece of mind.

What was he supposed to do?

He called Varric.

“My mother calls less than you, Blondie.”

“Help me.”

Varric sighed. “What’d he do now?”

“He came to the clinic.”

“Oh shit. How much do I owe you?”

“What?”

“I assume he destroyed something.”

“Just my peace of mind,” Anders muttered. “No, he needed treatment.”

“Oh. How much do I owe you?” Varric asked, much less concerned.

“It’s a free clinic, Varric.”

“So what’s the problem?”

For a moment, Anders said nothing. He didn’t know how to begin describing the problem. There were too many problems. Max was a problem. 

“Max says he loves me.” Perhaps it wasn’t the best way to start, but Anders was beginning to realize it was the heart of why he was calling.

Varric just laughed. “He does that sometimes.”

“Within the first hour of meeting someone?”

“No shit?” Varric asked, sounding genuinely impressed. “Hasn’t happened that fast since Fenris.”

“This is normal?” Anders felt like he was having a breakdown in slow motion.

“Eh, normal is relative with him.”

“How do I make him stop?” Anders was millimeters from begging.

“Ignore him,” Varric advised, “treat him like a patient. Positive is encouragement. Negative only means he’ll want you more.”

“He gets in my bed! How do I ignore that!”

This time it was Varric who paused before answering. “Anders, I am hoping you have enough sense in that big brain of yours not to reciprocate his sexual advances.”

“No! He’s insane!”

“Alright, look, I’ll have a talk with him and then just name your price for, uh, emotional damages and harassment.”

“I don’t want your fucking money, Varric!”

“Damnnit, Blondie why couldn’t you be a greedy bastard like everyone else?”

“I can’t do this,” Anders muttered to himself. He couldn’t. This was too much for his brain to deal with. This was mad. This was beyond unhealthy. How he had not lost it completely up to that point spoke volumes about his levels of disassociation.

“Completely understandable,” Varric sympathized, “I’ll help you find a new place. Hell, I’ll even pay for it, but please just do me a favor and don’t move out until I get back. It’s better he’s not left to his own devices.”

Already lightyears away from dealing with the reality of going back home to Max, Anders heard himself say in a detached voice, “Aveline said that about Hawke.”

Varric chuckled. “Smart lady that Aveline.”

-

Seeing the exam room empty swamped Anders with relief even if the intentionally knocked over biohazard bin caused him to scowl. Clothes and even trash gone, there was no other sign Max had been there.

Arriving home he found the house void of Max's presence. Like surviving a near death experience, Anders felt giddy. He left a bottle of antibiotics on the counter, out in the open and obvious. Feeling reckless, he left a note that said “read the directions.”

Still, he paused and listened before opening the door to his room. Empty. Anders smiled to himself. Alone, Anders took his time getting organizing himself, doing paperwork, and then finally getting ready for a shower. The problem really only began after.

Lying in bed after, window open, nice breeze and the peaceful quiet of a wealthy neighborhood, Anders should have fallen asleep easily. It should have been easy. No knobby ball of heat and psychopathy burrowed against his back. No tentative touches and shy smiles. No concern to waste over the pitiful unconscious whimpers.

No need to worry about how Max thought of him. No need to keep in mind how hard Max got just from Anders cleaning him up. No need to dwell on Max’s smoldering, accusing eyes as he waited for Anders reaction, naked and unashamed. No need to wonder what Max meant by _you don’t take me seriously_. No need to imagine what _I could make you feel so good, Anders_ would entail.

It should have been easy to fall asleep.

Anders didn’t sleep.

The next morning the pills were still there, but his note was gone. In its place was another. In jagged, scribbled, barely legible scrawl, the scrap of paper said “I can’t read.”

Disgusted, Anders crumpled up the note and threw it away.


	5. Chapter 5

At first Anders dreaded the start of the new day. Although he had no reason to suspect so aside from Max being Max, Anders worried he might reappear. As the day picked up, the thought faded. It wasn’t until the bus ride home, sun sinking, did Anders think about Max more then in passing.

He thought about how to go about moving out. No, he hadn’t committed to staying long term or even until Varric got back, and Varric didn’t pressure him to beyond asking that once, but Anders felt guilty when he considered leaving without notice.

Self-preservation wasn’t his strongest instinct.

Unlocking the front door, he hoped Max decided to continue his absent streak. Once inside he could hear Max murmuring in the kitchen. He cringed and considered sneaking upstairs, but then curiosity overcame him. Sure, Max talked to himself, but normally is was hurried and angry. This was mellow, even fond.

Quietly, he set his bag down and then crept to the doorway. Flat on his back, Max lie on the floor. On his chest, tiny and purring like a motor, perched a gray cat. Eyes closed and relaxed, it kneaded his chest as Max pet it.

“Hawke?” Anders asked before he managed to stop himself.

Surprised, it hissed and dug its claws into Max. In reaction, Max slowed his petting to a light hand on its back and let out a soothing hush. Then he eyed Anders warily.

“Yeah,” he answered, short and annoyed.

Hawke watched Anders just as suspiciously. The little ball of fluff looked nothing like the menacing tomcat Anders had built in his head from what Varric said.

“Can I pet him?” Anders asked, belatedly remembering he was supposed to be avoiding Max.

Scowling, Max looked away. “I dunno. Ask him.”

Still a few feet off, Anders kneeled down and offered his hand, “hey there, Hawke,” Anders crooned, “can I pet you?”

Max snapped his head in Anders direction, staring at him wide-eyed. His hand hung frozen over Hawke, every bit of him gone tense. Anders ignored him, keeping his focus on the cat. Although still wary, Hawke lowered one paw off of Max. So small, he had to slide the rest of himself off as well.

“Good kitty,” Anders made tisk-ing noises, “you’re such a handsome boy, Hawke.”

Hawke raised his head, sniffing the air, before inching towards Anders. An intense joy rose in his chest. Max groaned and rolled over to his side, curling up like he had yesterday. Very deliberately, Anders continued ignoring him. He refused to let this moment be ruined by Max’s sulking. Hawke bumped his head into Anders’ hand and then rubbed himself against him.

“Such a sweet boy, Hawke,” Anders cooed, waiting for the cat to prompt him one more time before petting him gently. “Such a good cat.”

Max made a noise of disgust.

Anders raised his head. “What.”

Shoving himself upright, Max glared. He curled his lip like he might growl before looking away and letting out a dismissive snort.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

Outrageously friendly for a cat Varric claimed to have trust issues, Hawke tried to climb up Anders lap. Too small, he struggled, so Anders gently picked him up. Instantly, Hawke started purring. Scooping him up against his chest, Anders stood.

“What, Max?” Anders demanded.

Max still didn’t look at Anders, glaring at the wall instead. “You’re calling the cat ‘Hawke’.”

“That’s his name.”

The anger faded from Max’s face, leaving behind confusion and something close to heartbreak. “Oh,” he said softly, “I didn’t know you knew him.”

In his arms, little Hawke purred and nuzzled him. Feeling blessed despite the third party in the room, Anders scratched him under the chin. “It’s my pleasure to know Hawke.”

Slowly, as if it pained him, Max rose to a stand. He didn’t look back at Anders and didn’t say goodbye as he walked out the backdoor.

“Good kitty,” Anders cooed.

-

“So, Blondie.”

“You’re calling me for a change. Now I’m concerned,” Anders joked. It was strange to be on the phone with Varric and joke, but he was in a good mood. It was easy to be in a good mood while he teased Hawke with a string.

“Yeah, well, someone else called and he really hates phones so I’m a little bit concerned too.”

Hawke pounced on the string, but Anders tugged it out of the way just in time. He dangled in the air, chuckling as Hawke jumped for it, paws flailing. Adorable.

“You don’t need to be a dick to him. I know he’s a pain in the ass, but he does have feelings and those feelings aren’t one hundred percent stable if you recall.” For once Varric sounded angry, defensive of his best friend.

Anders stopped dangling the thread. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You named the cat Hawke and asked if you could pet him.”

“You named the cat. It’s your cat,” Anders stated the obvious, baffled as to what else he was supposed to respond with. Hawke batted at the still string and then meowed at Anders when it didn’t move.

After a very long five seconds of silence, Varric said, “you think I have a cat named Hawke.”

“Hawke is on my bed right now.”

“The cat.”

“Yeah. Who else?”

“Shit,” Varric sighed, “there hasn’t been this big of a miscommunication involving Hawke since his uncle sold him to a private security firm.”

“What?”

“Anders, you’ve met my best friend, right?”

“Yes,” Anders answered slowly. “Max, the lunatic with a psychosexual fixation”

“Yeah, that’s the guy, Maximilian Hawke, multimillionaire, former gunrunner, killer for hire, wanted in twelve countries not including Vatican City, and banned from every bar in Polk County, Iowa.”

“What.”

“Blondie, I don’t have a cat.”

-

It was three days before Anders saw Max again. Without Anders noticing, Max followed him into his room. Although he shoved Anders back repeatedly and with unnecessary aggression, his head was bowed and cheeks burning red.

Before thinking better of it, Anders shoved him back. “What.”

“Give me your phone,” Max mumbled. 

“No,” Anders answered automatically.

Max raised his head to stare at Anders, eyes like gaping wounds in reality. Voice now unnervingly neutral and perfectly clear, he repeated, “give me your phone.”

Wordlessly, Anders handed it over. Max punched in Anders’ passcode without hesitation. 

“There goes the illusion of privacy,” Anders muttered.

“You're not careful enough,” Max returned to mumbling.

After a series of rapid taps, Max locked the phone and offered it back to Anders.

Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Anders accepted it and then immediately unlocked it to inspect the damage. “What did you do?” 

“If you're scared call me,” Max said as explanation, already walking away

Anders scowled at his back. “The only time I'm scared is around you.”

He lied. Sometime in the past week, Anders feelings towards Max went from fear and involuntary affection to anger and pity. All of him still grated on Anders nerves.

Anders tried to ignore the pang in his chest from realizing Max showed him his back.

Scrolling through his contacts, Anders found the new one entered as “the cat.”

“Oh fuck you,” Anders yelled down the hall. “I didn't know!”

Max flipped him off and kept walking.

-

The bus was uncomfortably full on the ride back home that evening. Fortunately only one person got on the stop before Anders stop to get off. A small girl with black hair, carrying at least half her weight in brown paper wrapped packages and a backpack waddled down the aisle, struggling not to drop anything.

Anders stood to offer her his seat.

“Oh, that is very kind of you,” she said in a lilting Irish accent.

Anders gave her a small smile. “It's no trouble.” 

Once she settled, Anders handed her a small parcel she dropped.

“Oh. That's very nice of you.”

“Really, it's a small thing.”

“Yes, but still very nice.”

Normally Anders avoided eye contact on the bus, let alone speaking, but she was endearing in a naive wide-eyed way. “You should be more careful.”

She sighed in defeat. “Varric says the same thing. Normally Hawke takes me home, but he's been awfully miserable the past few days and I would rather not trouble him.”

Anders nearly choked. “What?”

“Oh. Am I oversharing? I tend to do that sometimes. And babble. I babble. Oh no. I'm babbling now. I'll should shut up now.” Pursing her lips, she looked away from Anders to stare straight ahead as if determined to follow through with shutting up.

“I don't mind,” Anders said in a strangled voice.

“You're a very nice man. Hawke says I should be suspicious of nice men. He says I should kick them in their ‘gonads’ and run away.”

“Is Hawke not nice?” Why was he doing this to himself?

“Oh, no, he's very nice,” she insisted, “he bought me a house and then a kitten just the other day."

“He what?”

"A kitten! He is rather vain though. He named it 'Hawke.'"

Anders put that worry to rest to focus back on- "he bought you a _house?_ "

“Oh yes. He'd buy anyone a house if you asked him nicely. My name is Merrill, by the way. Hawke says I shouldn't tell people that either, but everyone knows his name.”

“I'm Anders,” he replied weakly.

“Oh goodness! You're Anders! Oh, I'm so embarrassed. You probably already know everything about Hawke.”

“No, not really.”

“He talks about you very often. He says your heart is gold to match your hair.”

“Oh god.”

“It's very sweet. Nothing like with Fenris. They used to fight all the time.”

“Oh god,” Anders moaned.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Anders croaked.

“Are you sure? You look rather ill.”

Anders was not fine.

“Should I walk you home? I should make sure Hawke is eating while Varric is away. He's not very good at that. Taking care of himself that is.”

-

Merrill was making tea. She darted from place to place, humming to herself and chattering intermittently. She knew the house better than Anders and the inhabitants much better.

Anders would like to say he prompted her to talk because information was a resource to arm himself with, but the truth of it was Anders was curious as to how the fuck any of this came to be. Besides, talking about her friends seemed to make Merrill happy.

“Who normally,” Anders hesitated, reluctant to ask the question now that he knew the thing named Hawke was a grown ass man, “who normally takes care of Hawke when Varric is gone?” 

“It's a bit of a team effort.” She settled on the stool across the island from him. “He's been a mess since Bethany was taken away, poor things the both of them. Sugar?”

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

Anders tried not to grimace as she shoveled two spoonfuls into his tiny cup.

“He's gotten much better since you moved in. Fenris would be jealous.”

“About Fenris…”

“He doesn't much care for me,” she frowned slightly, disappointment crossing her delicate features. “I think it upset Hawke. He was very good at that, upsetting Hawke.”

“It's not hard to upset Hawke,” Anders muttered.

Merrill straightened up in her seat, eyes widening. “Do you upset Hawke?”

“No. I mean, maybe? I don't know.” Honest to fuck, Anders didn't know. Max had been so extremely unstable since the moment they met, Anders didn't know what counted as upset.

Merrill relaxed once more and nodded. “You would know if you upset Hawke. It is very hard to miss.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, he hasn't stabbed you, has he? Or screamed. I would have known if he was screaming. He's very loud and I only live across the way.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I thought I mentioned. Hawke bought me a house there. It was very kind of him.”

“No, I mean why do you, does anyone, stay friends with Max? You have to know that this isn't right. Normal. It's unhealthy. Outright dangerous at times.”

Merrill grew very sad. “Oh, Anders, if you only gave him a chance. Hawke is a pure soul. He has too much love for his heart to hold.”

_What._

“Hawke. We're talking about Max Hawke, best friend of Varric Tethras? Creepy vibes and blood on his hands Hawke?”

“Oh dear, he can be a bit creepy at times, can't he?” She touched her hand to her lips as if the realization only now occurred to her. 

Anders didn’t really feel the need to answer.

-

Anders frowned as he flipped through the packet of papers Lirene handed him. What should have been the medical history of a new patient was blank. The patient declined to use their name, which wasn’t entirely uncommon, but included nothing else either. Double checking, Anders knocked on the door.

“Come in,” sang a familiar voice.

Oh no.

Leaning casually against the counter, Isabela looked him up and down and then smiled suspiciously sly. “Hey there, sweet thing.”

Anders kicked the door shut behind him. “His pet, Isabela? Really?”

“Met Hawke, did you?” Her smirk widened. “You have to admit, he’s a bit like a cat. Loves attention. Will attack you if you touch him first. Disappears for days. Knocks things off shelves. Kills for you without you having to ask. Gets in bed with you whether you want him to or not." 

_“Isabela.”_

“Then again that’s not a problem I have. I always welcome Hawke to bed. He might be a bastard, but he’s a fantastic lay.”

“Him getting in bed with me is the least of my problems,” Anders hissed between his teeth and lowering his voice, “he's a murderous crazy person.”

“There is that. But he’s our murderous crazy person.”

“No, he’s all of your murderous crazy person. He’s not mine. I don’t even know him.”

The look Isabela gave him could have killed a man. “He likes you, Anders. You better not fuck this up. You don’t have to sleep with him, but if you hurt him I’ll cut off your dick and wear your balls as earrings.”

Incredulous, Anders let out a half laugh. “You can’t be serious. How do you even know that?”

“Merrill filled me in. In fact, she’s waiting in the car, so if you’re through with your little crisis, I have other business to attend to. Your goods are in the back fridge. We can talk details later.”

Looking as haughty as humanly possible for someone Anders had seen face down drunk, she strut by him, opened the door, and then was gone.

Anders could only stare after her.

The entire world had gone mad and it centered entirely around Maximilian Hawke. The only positive Anders could find was at least Max himself was still avoiding him.

He tried not to feel guilty about it.

-

As usual, Isabela was the harbinger of something worse.

Come sunset, lobby empty, Lirene doing inventory and Carlie straightening up, Anders began filing through his patient charts for the day. He didn’t know what prompted him, maybe just the sad need to be alone, but he stood up from his desk to shut his office door the whole way. Standing there, straight line of sight into the lobby, he watched four men file in.

The most Anders could tell was they were large, stacked, uniformed, and walked as though armed. Why did he even have locks?

He shut his door. As fast as he could, hands steady with nerves Warden-Commander Mercy trained into him, Anders texted both Lirene and Carlie.

_Leave. Not through the front. Stay low. Call Varric xxx-xxx-xxxx if you don’t hear from me in an hour._

Then he erased the message.

The door slamming open beamed him, pain splitting his head and causing him to see stars. Anders staggered, but managed to remain upright, only to be thrown back. His phone skidded across the floor.

Fantastic.

He braced himself, but no other attack came. Despite how futile he suspected it was, Anders held himself in a defensive pose, staring down the two men in his office. Figuring the other two swept the rest of the office, he silently prayed Lirene and Carlie got out.

Voice gruff, the shorter of the two, though older by the lines on his face, spoke, “Doctor Anders.”

“That’s me,” Anders answered, bitingly sarcastic. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to come back tomorrow?”

“Where is it?”

“What?” 

The bigger man’s eyes narrowed.

“Look, I would love to tell you where it is if I knew what it was. Unfortunately, I’m rather confused as to who you people are or what you’re doing here, so if you could clarify I’d really--”

Anders barely dodged the man’s first swing, but his other hand grabbed Anders by the throat. Lifting him by the front of his scrubs, the man slammed him against the wall. As if his head wasn’t already throbbing. Great. 

“The thief left their cargo here. We want what was stolen from us.”

Anders hoped Isabela was eaten alive by eels.

“I only had one delivery today, and it was all medical supplies.”

The man who held him raised his fist, only for the older one to step in. “You know who this thief is then?”

Anders swallowed thickly, but met his eyes. “I can guess.”

“Speak.”

“I can’t tell you where he is, but I can contact him, get him here.”

Anders did not flinch, did not look away, eyes as sharp the older man judging him.

“If you are lying to us, we will do worse than kill you.”

Anders gave a sharp nod. “If you give me my phone, the contact is entered as ‘the cat’.”

If Anders was going down, so were they.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the cat's out of the bag. watch for its claws


	6. Chapter 6

Anders knew Max wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t. There was no way Max would have survived that long doing what he was doing if he was stupid.

So why he decided to stroll in through the front door, in plainview, Anders could not fathom. Anders stood in the middle of the waiting room, the biggest of the four right behind him, grip tight on his shoulder. It wasn’t as though Anders could run, still lightheaded from the blows. He wiped the blood dribbling from his nose with the back of his hand.

Another stood in the backhall away, completely out of sight, another in the corner by the door and the Sten, their leader as far as Anders could tell, stood back and to the right of him.

This was so stupid. Anders supposed being pissed about it was better than being scared, but it didn’t really make anything seem better at all.

“He is not the thief.”

Anders darted his eyes towards Sten, but there was no way of seeing him without turning his head and he would rather not be hit again, thanks.

He cleared his throat, almost surprised when his voice came out steady, if not a little bit raw. “How do you know?”

“That is Basalit-an Hawke.”

Merrill was right. Everyone did know Hawke’s name.

Door opened with a chime, shut with a clatter, and there Hawke stood, hands in his hoodie pocket and hood up. The electric hum of the fluorescent lights sounded piercingly loud in the otherwise dead silence. Circles dark around black eyes with the shadows under his hood, Hawke’s eye sockets looked empty. The half smile he quirked caused Anders stomach to turn over.

After a few seconds of that smothering quiet, Hawke spoke up. Bizarrely, almost surreal, it was in a thick Irish accent. “Think there’s been a wee bit of a misunderstanding, eh lads? Bit bold of you to be muckin’ about Tethras territory, innit?”

After a pause, as if to be certain Hawke finished speaking, Sten replied, “the Arishok does not recognize Tethras’ authority.”

Max clucked his tongue. “I must not be makin’ meself clear, or you’re a right moran, this clinic is under my protection.”

“You may be basalit-an, but you do not understand the demands of the Qun. We cannot leave here empty handed.”

Very quietly, Hawke said, “if gobshite don’t take his hand off of him, he won’t be leaving with hands at all.”

Anders supposed Sten gave physical signal as the man released Anders shoulder and stepped back. Rubbing his shoulder, Anders looked behind him to glare. It took more self control than it should have to clamp his jaw shut and bite his tongue. He was still in disbelief with current unfolding of events and he’d rather not disturb the tenuous control Max somehow managed over the situation.

Focus still on Sten, Hawke spoke to Anders this time, just as quiet as before. “Get in the back.”

Some insane impulse screamed for Anders to say no. He would have to examine that later. He gave a jerky nod “yes” and then stepped around his attacker on wobbly legs.

He walked from the lobby into the hall and towards his office. From behind him, he heard Hawke speaking, loud and cheerful once more.

“Don’t think the Arishok mind so much if I take the hand of who harmed my people. Right ‘preciate not having to make apologies for you makin’ bags of your job, but supposed that’d get you off too easy.”

There were no protests. Just silence. Anders went into his office and closed the door. While he didn’t want to believe Max would cut off a guy’s hand in cold-blood, he easily could. While Anders knew it should be impossible for Max to take on four armed, militantly trained men, somehow it didn’t seem so farfetched. 

Back against the door, he slid down it and plopped onto the floor. As if tuned to his voice, Anders could still hear every word Max said.

“Arishok wants to be footherin’ in my territory, he can do right by me, understand? I don’t want to see you here again or nobody see you again at all, yeah?”

“Expect summons from the Arishok, Ser Hawke.”

“Crack on.”

-

Suffice to say, Max was pissed.

It was strange to have his anger quiet and sullen instead of a dangerous outburst. He waited, hood still up, leaning against the wall, watching Anders silently. Anders called Lirene, let her know everything was fine. She yelled at him for five minutes before bursting into tears. Apparently she called Varric. Anders supposed Varric called Max too.

As usual, Anders had a lot of questions to ask, but he couldn't make himself right then. In due time he would ask, but right then, Max’s anger like static in the air and blood still down Anders’ shirt, he figured he could wait. In the quiet of the closed clinic, cleaning up the mess of his office and finishing inventory, Anders didn’t have the nerve to speak first.

Max didn’t seem inclined to speak at all.

He didn’t hurry Anders, just followed along. He didn’t offer assistance or make trouble. Anders could feel his gaze like a physical sensation. He felt like Max could see into his head, knew how uneasy he made Anders. 

Finally, hours past his usual time, Anders collected his things, zipped his bag shut and slung it over his shoulder. He raised his head to look to Max, but he was already walking towards the back door. He waited while Anders set the alarm, then left through the door. Anders had long missed his bus. He tried to remember what line he should get on instead.

Once outside, Max nudged him. The contact caused him to startle, jerking to the side. Max just scowled and then stalked ahead, across the alley and into the parking lot towards a junky old Jetta. Opening the passenger door, he climbed in and then slammed it. Through the window Anders could see him sitting, knees up, shoulders hunched, and glaring at his lap.

Anders looked up and down the dark alley and then back to Max sulking in the car. Anders following seemed implied. Getting in that car wouldn’t be the worst idea Anders ever had, but somehow it made him nervous. Not scared, just. Nervous.

He crossed the street, opened the door to the driver’s side, and then climbed in. The keys were already in the ignition. He looked to Max. Profile sharp, eyes black, and jaw clench, Max refused to look at him.

“Max--”

“Shut the fucking door and start the car.” The Irish accent had faded back to American by the last word.

Anders shut the door. He reached for the ignition to start it, but caught himself looking at Max again. Sighing, he dropped his hands to his lap and looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Max said, voice quiet but sharp.

“Max--”

“Start the car,” Max repeated.

The first few drops of rain fell. Anders started the car. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat to take a deep breath and then reached for the gear shift.

“Buckle up.”

“What?”

“Buckle up,” Max snapped, still not looking at him.

“What about you? You’re not--”

The suddenness of the action caused Anders to jerk back, but Max moved unfazed. Uncurling from his ball, he leaned over, reaching across Anders for the seatbelt. Anders leaned back in the seat, trying to avoid touching, but his breath caught for how close they were. 

Max always burned hot, even through his clothes Anders could feel the heat of him in the cold air. This close, Anders could see below his collar, to where he dug his nail, creating a hole in the skin above his collarbone, blood barely dried. This close, Anders could see the flutter of his pulse on his exposed throat. He smelled like dial soap, ash, and gunpowder.

Pulling the seatbelt across Anders, Max snapped it into the buckle and returned to his previous position. The entire process took less than ten seconds and he hadn’t touched Anders once, but it left Anders reeling. 

He stared at the side of Max’s head. Max glared at his lap. 

Anders took the car out of park and then drove them home, the only sounds that of the rain on the windshield and the clanking of the old car’s engine.

-

Turning onto their street, Max spoke for the first time since they started driving. “Drop me off up the hill.”

“What?”

Max pointed up the street. “Top of the hill is my house. I’m not staying at Varric’s tonight.”

“You have a house? Here? In this neighborhood?” Perhaps not the most polite way to ask, implying surprise that not only did Max have a house but one in a ritzy neighborhood, but like most things about Max, it caught Anders off guard.

Well, Merrill did say Max bought her a house.

Max scowled. “I bought it for my mum. Stop being shitty about it.”

Anders stopped himself just short of asking “you have a mother?” The question would not have gone over well. While Anders hadn’t actively come to the conclusion, at some point his brain classified Max as a motherless, soulless abomination. He winced at the private realization. He darted a nervous glance at Max, but he continued quietly brooding, attention inward.

The further up the hill they went the more space between houses until they arrived at a gated, not house, but fucking mansion. Anders stopped the car, put it in park, and gaped. 

“Thanks, Anders,” Max murmured, voice soft and tentative.

Anders snapped his gaze to Max. Head bent down and shoulders sagging, Max let out a heavy sigh. He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip before looking up at Anders with a wounded expression, pitiful enough to cause Anders’ heart to twist in his chest.

“Thanks for texting me.”

“Thanks for coming,” Anders forced out the reply, voice hoarse.

Blushing, Max looked away. “I’ll always come if you call.”

Oh god. Why was that cute? 

“I’ll…” He dabbed his bottom lip again. “Is it okay if I come see you tomorrow?”

“I didn’t know you needed permission.”

Max’s blush turned a darker red. “Varric said if I want to spend time with you I need to ask first.” Then, quiet and sad, he added, “he said I had to stop getting in your bed.”

Why the fuck was Anders feeling guilty about a completely reasonable boundary.

“Don’t stay over if there’s no one to sleep with,” he explained, “Can’t go to Isabela’s tonight because I might kill her, so it’s me and Dog.”

“ _Don’t kill Isabela_.”

He glanced back to Anders with an annoyed look. “It was a joke, Anders. She put me in a tight spot with the Arishok, but fuck, I wouldn’t kill her for it.”

“Uh, right. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” he muttered. Unlatching the door, Max got out of the car and then slammed it closed before Anders could attempt another apology.

Head bowed and shoulders hunched, Max trudged up to the gate. As if on cue, the iron wrought gate opened smoothly, allowing him passage. From ahead on a brightly lit path, a war mabari charged at him. Remembering what Warden Commander Mercy’s mabari could do, fear flashed through Anders. However, Max opened his arms wide, catching the enormous animal as easily as if it were a puppy.

The dog tried to lick Max through his hood. Unbothered by jaws big enough to enclose his head, Max let the dog rest its head on his shoulder as he carried it like a child, down the path to their home and out of view.

Heart heavy and head sore, Ander took the car out of park and pulled away. As an afterthought he hoped the car wasn’t stolen.

-

After cleaning up the best he could, showering and inspecting the damage done, Anders found himself alone in the kitchen of the empty house, trying to figure out what tea Merrill had made him. He thought about the day, thought about how Isabela waltz in, trouble on her tail, like usual. He thought about how oblivious he had been to the depth of Isabela’s and Max’s relationship. 

He knew as much about the Qunari in Kirkwall as anyone else might, but he googled the latest news articles, the Mayor’s statement about how he had someone experienced with the Qunari as a liaison, and empty assurances about what was arguably occupation.

He thought about how Max dealt with the Qunari, about how familiar they were with him. How deeply they respected him. He thought about how Max didn’t resort to violence at all and began to wonder if what he thought was anger afterwards had actually been residual worry.

He wondered if Max was liaison and he wondered how much saving him would cost Max in negotiations. 

He thought about how Max thanked him for asking for help.

Picking up his phone, Anders meant to open to Varric’s contact, but he hesitated.

He knew he shouldn’t. He knew. He knew it was sending mixed signals. He knew it was flaky at best, manipulative at worst. He knew both Varric and Isabela would be waiting with a hangman’s noose if he fucked this up, but Anders opened a new message to “the cat.”

_Do you want to sleep over tonight?_

And god, if it didn’t sicken him with how fast Max replied.

_please_

-

Anders didn’t hear when Max arrived. He didn’t hear Max walk into the kitchen. Didn’t notice him until his voice cracked when he spoke so softly.

“Anders.”

Anders snapped his head up from the six different types of tea spread across the counter, none tasting right. Max stood in the doorway, soaking wet from the rain, in the same clothes as before and looking like his heart had been broken. Anders felt like a piece of shit for spending hours cursing Max for his lack one.

Even now Anders could hardly speculate why Max chose him of all people to fixate on. He supposed he was just who was available. At this point it made little difference. By this point, Anders recognized Max was more than bloodlust and arrogance. By this point, Anders could acknowledge it took an extraordinary type of person to inspire devotion on such levels from such different people.

Unable to force any type of facial expression, Anders watched as Max slunk closer to him, head ducked, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched, curling in on himself. Anders invited him, but he was still so shy. He wondered what Varric must have said. No, that was unfair too. Any time it was just him and Anders, no danger or business hanging over their heads, Max acted like this, bashful and skittish.

Very deliberately, Anders turned from the counter and opened his arm to allow Max his preferred place against him. At some point this had become familiar. Between the first time, Max leaning against him for support, flirty and bleeding out, and now, shy, almost scared, clothes wet with late fall rain, this had become familiar. Max’s place.

Tucking his head under Anders’ chin, Max hid his face in the crook of his neck. He let out a shuddering breath as he cuddled close, fingers twisting in Anders’ shirt. The cold water seeped from Max’s clothes to his, but more than that Max’s body burned through with warmth. Perhaps for the first time, Anders wrapped his arm around Max’s shoulders without reservation.

“I should have killed them,” he murmured against Anders’ throat.

Anders tensed, but Max continued.

“I should have at least maimed the Sten for the Arishok, but I knew you wouldn’t like that,” Max told him, voice barely above a whisper, but breath hot against his skin. “It would have made things easier. I’m going to have to go talk to him. I’m going to have to get fucking Fenris and we’re going to have to deal with this.”

Anders didn’t know if he was supposed to apologize. Anders didn’t know if he was sorry. How was he supposed to endorse permanently crippling someone willing to leave peaceably? A little payback was fine for the rough treatment, but Max wanted a hand. They would have allowed him.

“You didn’t.”

“Are you happy?” Max asked.

The sincerity of the question caused Anders chest to tighten. “I don’t know if I’m happy, but I’m glad you didn’t. I’m,” _manipulative_ “happy with you. It was a bad situation, but I’m proud of you.”

Max let out a soft groan. Tightening his grip on Anders’ clothes, he nuzzled his throat. Anders’ heart throbbed. But he still had some sense. He still had some conscience.

“No, Max,” Anders said firmly. “You can come to bed, but no--You can sleep. We’ll sleep. Okay?”

“I love you,” Max said in a small voice, but it wasn’t an argument.

“No, you don’t.” To his own ears, he sounded very sad. “Let’s go to bed, Max.” He felt Max nod.

Although it took a moment for Anders to extract himself from Max’s hold, Anders straightened up the mess he made, putting away the tea and the dishes in the sink. Hands jammed in his pocket, Max watched silently. Once Anders shut off the overhead light and walked towards the doorway, Max followed. He caught Anders by his wrist, holding tight the entire way upstairs and into Anders’ room.

Shaking himself free, Anders stepped away from Max and to his dresser. He opened the drawers and began digging through. For the second time that week, Anders told him to undress.

“I have clothes for you. You can’t get in bed like that.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Max asked the question like it pained him.

Clothes in hand, Ander turned to face him. He frowned unsure of the question's intent. Max stood there staring at Anders, expression open, the shuffling awkwardness from moments before now gone.

Belatedly, Anders realized how Max must have seen his behavior and how drastic the change in it must seem to someone like him, so intensely focused.

“I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t know who you were, I suppose I still don’t, but I assumed the worst. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Max scowled. “This is because you’re sorry.”

Anders didn’t know why that made him smile. “No, this is because I like you. You’re a fucking lunatic, but you’re an endearing one.”

“You’re wrong, Anders.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t assume the worst,” he said as if disappointed, whether in Anders or himself, Anders couldn’t tell, but Max didn’t say another word.

Instead he began stripping, the dark hoodie first, and then the worn gray shirt underneath, dotted with splotches of blood. Sure enough, Max had picked fresh holes in his skin since last Anders saw him. Anders handed him a fresh tee shirt. Bloodstains would come out. Besides, Anders didn’t mind giving Max a shirt, not when his own was ratty enough to be torn by hand.

Varric claimed Max to be a multimillionaire, but Anders had never seen someone with so many holes in their clothes, even from his homeless patients.

He shucked his pants, and although this time he managed to wear boxers, Anders could still tell he was half hard underneath. He just sighed as he handed off the sweatpants.

“Can’t help it,” Max muttered, “you’re right there.”

At least he wasn’t saying “I love you.” Not for the first time Anders wondered what possessed him to invite Max over. He felt dirty, like he was encouraging him with no reward at the end, drawing the whole pointless thing out. The only one that would get hurt was Max. 

“Come on,” Anders said, “get in bed.”

Without further prompting, Max crawled into bed. Anders turned off the light and lie down. Max instantly scooched closer. He took his spot, curled up in a ball against Anders back, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

“I love you,” he said.

Anders didn’t say anything in reply. He didn’t say anything when Max laid his hand in the dip between Anders’ ribcage and hip. Max caressed softly, hand shaking slightly, but he pushed no further. If maybe he heard Max moan before he fell asleep, Anders didn’t say anything about that either.

-

Anders woke up to a purple dawn and warmth of Max against his back, staying the night for the first time. He caught himself smiling the tiniest bit over it until noticing that sometime during the night Max’s hand had gotten under his shirt, splayed over his abdomen, holding Anders close. His smile waned and suddenly he was much more tired.

Max’s hand, warm against his skin, didn’t bother or offend him. It was the implication of it not bothering him, not feeling the impulse to remove it, finding the contact less inappropriate and more comforting. He knew it wouldn’t be good if Max woke up to find Anders awake and allowing it.

Instead of curled up in a ball, Max had pressed against Anders’ back, huddled close. Ander wondered if it had been intentional. He decided it was better not to dwell, not now with Max hard against his thigh. It didn’t mean anything, Anders reminded himself. Max knew what this wasn't, he assured himself through doubt. 

Although gentle about it, Anders extracted himself without concern about waking Max. When he turned he found Max watching him, that painfully earnest expression only marred by the empty black of his eyes.

Max didn’t apologize. Anders didn’t press him. He sighed and shook his head before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. When he returned, Max was gone. It wasn’t unexpected, but Anders still felt a pang in his chest. His clothes were gone and he left Anders’ in a ball on the bed. Anders left them there too.

On his dresser sat the keys of the Jetta, innocent but oh-so-suggestive. His gold earring, the one Max gave him, or as Anders now realized returned to him, was gone.

At least he hadn’t said “I love you.” On the bus ride to the clinic, Anders wondered why that bothered him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're Irish and this makes you want to kick my ass, please let me know


	7. Chapter 7

They managed until the afternoon before another incident happened. 

“Anders,” Lirene called in a tight voice.

Anders knew his first gray hair would show up any moment. Instead of yelling back, he walked down the hall to behind the glass separating her desk from the waiting room. When she saw him she gestured to the far corner where a man leaned, arms crossed and glaring daggers. Tattooed, surly, and with a shock of white hair, he was distinct enough to unnerve. Although the stranger was slender, Anders recognized a threat when he saw one.

Still, despite the “don’t touch me, don’t even look at me,” vibe he emitted, he showed no outward aggression.

“Another one of your ‘friends’?” Lirene hissed.

Anders knew she was more anxious than angry, but he understood both emotions. The past week had not been easy on her. 

He shook his head. “No, but I’ll go talk to him.”

His first step into the lobby and the stranger’s eyes were on him. He tracked Anders’ path with the same distrustful, almost feral intensity as Max had.

Why couldn’t he have a normal day, he lamented. Why couldn’t any aspect in his life ever be normal? Once close enough they could speak without being heard, the stranger raised his chin. He met Anders’ eyes, gaze judgemental.

“Can I help you?” Anders said for lack of any other thing to say.

“Hawke.”

“Christ,” Anders muttered. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Why?”

The stranger ignored the question. He spoke in an accent Anders couldn’t place, but with a sneer in his voice to match his face. “You should be grateful to earn Hawke’s attention, let alone his protection.”

“Is that why you’re here? Protection?”

“No. The Qunari would not dare return now that Hawke has drawn his line.”

_“Why?”_

The stranger smirked. “For all their claims they do not fear death, they still value their lives.”

The statement put off Anders, his brain stalling as he tried to process it. It fit neatly enough for the events of yesterday, but each reminder of Max’s reputation and standing staggered Anders all over again.

Before he could recover, the opening door chimed. In walked Max.

Max scanned the lobby before settling his eyes on the two of them in the corner. Instantly he smiled, bright and happy. Beside Anders the stranger stiffened, hands balling in tight fists. Anders recognized the flash of emotion across his face as pain.

Max headed towards them, his gait the same awkward uneven steps as when Anders first met him. After seeing him prowl, move like a predator, the return to before was jarring. When he arrived, he touched the stranger on his hip with a possessive familiarity, then leaned over and kissed his cheek. Pure agony crossed on the man’s handsome features, but he stifled it by the time Max pulled away.

Voice carefully neutral, the stranger greeted him, “Hawke.”

“Fenris,” Max replied shyly.

Fenris. The one Isabela mentioned as Varric’s former roommate back when Anders thought Hawke was a cat. Fenris who kicked Hawke out of his bed. Fenris who was good at upsetting Hawke. Fenris who would be jealous.

Fenris, the name Max proceeded with a curse. Fenris who Max now looked at like he looked at Anders when they first met.

Anders felt a little bit sick. He shoved it done. He didn’t have time to think about why. Instead, Anders interrupted.

“Why are you here?”

He almost winced at the abruptness of it, almost backpedalled at the fading of Max’s smile. He felt Fenris’ glare, but kept his focus on Max, now looking at the floor and shuffling his feet. Max glanced off to the side and took a deep breath before fixing Anders with harder look.

“We’re gonna sweep for what the Arishok wants before heading off. Doubt she left it here. Doubt she even still has it from what I’ve gleaned, but,” Max shrugged, then flashed a smile, “I like to be thorough.”

That was not an innuendo, Anders shut the thought down before it fully formed.

“Uh, I mean, if you don’t mind?”

Anders could have easily agreed, would have without thinking it through, but his people were here, and his patients. He drew his mouth in a tight line, but answered after a moment of thought.

“I’m going to introduce you to my nurse, Lirene, and nursing assistant, Carlie. I expect you to respect them. You’re not to interrupt or disturb my patients in any way, but yes. You can search.”

The tightness he hadn’t noticed in his chest eased when Max smiled again.

“No problem, Anders.”

Gesturing for them to follow, Anders headed back towards the exam rooms. Behind him, low enough to be private, but too hard for Anders to ignore, Fenris reproached Max.

“Stop speaking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re an American.”

If Max answered, Anders didn’t hear.

-

They didn’t say goodbye when they left. Anders hadn’t expected them to, but he still… He still would have liked to know when they left.

He would have liked to see Max before he went.

When 9:30 PM came, after Anders set the alarm and locked up for the night, he left through the back and there stood Max. Well, leaned Max. He leaned against a banged up 1980s Alfa Romeo, one of the fire traps, not well kept at all. It took Anders a moment to process his presence, days between Max sightings now the usual.

Hands jammed in the pockets of his jacket over the same ragged hoodie, Max cocked his head to the side and looked Anders up and down. Despite how simple the action, so commonplace, not slow and suggestive, more like an assessment, Anders felt as if his nerves tingled. He felt his skin might heat if it had been any longer. 

Hands clenching the strap of his bag tight, he stood there, trying not to fidget. Max smiled, tentative and then sweet before biting his lip and looking away. Anders let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Hi, Anders,” Max said shyly.

“Hi, Max,” Anders replied, voice nearly catching, almost too soft.

Max shuffled his feet awkwardly, but he still smiled. “Wanna go to the store with me?” When Anders didn’t answer right away, he rushed on. “I’ll be good, I promise. I just need to get sneakers.”

Automatically Anders shot a glance at the ratty shoes on his feet. The seam had torn from the sole on the left one and the eyelets of the right one had ripped. Both were stained with something dark that had not been there this morning.

“It’s not blood!”

Anders hadn’t meant that twitch of a half smile, but Max must have seen it. He drew a sharp breath and waited for Anders’ answer.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Anders finally replied, maybe holding out longer than necessary. Maybe teasing Max just a little.

Max beamed. It shouldn’t have made Anders feel so warm inside. There were a million things to ask, to wonder, to fear. Suspicion and exhaustion were the two things Anders felt most lately, but with his free day not far at all and Max much too excited for a simple shopping trip, Anders shoved them aside.

Anders put the key in the ignition, but before he turned it he paused and glanced to Max. Slouched in his seat and hood up, Max looked the same as the night before, but an almost tangible glow of happiness radiated from him. He met Anders’ eyes and looked away instantly, blushing.

Without a word, Anders buckled up. Max made a tiny happy noise Anders would have missed if he wasn’t listening so closely.

Pulling away from the curb, Anders wondered if Max would have reached over for the seatbelt if he hadn’t.

He decided it didn’t matter.

-

Despite being there for Max, Anders somehow ended up in charge of the expedition. They stood in the shoe section of the department store, under fluorescent lights. Anders dug through the shelves with Max a few feet off, keeping an eye on both Anders and the entrance of the aisle.

“They don’t have what you want on sale,” Anders said for the third time. “Let’s just get the ones that fit.” _You can afford it_ Anders didn’t add. 

“No,” Max said for the third time, voice starting to become petulant.

“Max, you can’t walk around in those. They’re falling apart. You can get different ones later, but please, let’s get these.”

Max glared at the floor. After a moment, he asked, “what are you going to get?”

The question caught Anders off guard. “Ah, nothing. I don’t need anything.”

“Yes you do. I know you do.”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Well, I’m not getting anything.”

Max could afford things. Anders, less so.

“I’m buying it.”

“No you’re not,” Anders countered instantly.

“Pick something out or I’m not getting shoes.

Anders snorted at the ridiculousness of it. “You can’t blackmail me with a shoe purchase, Max.”

“Pick something out or I will,” Max said it like a threat.

They stood in the aisle, staring each other down, Max’s face in a stubborn pout and Anders with narrowed eyes, running shoes for Max in his hands.

“Fine. Let’s go to the pharmacy.”

“Nothing for the clinic.”

“Oh, there are rules now?”

“There’s always rules, Anders.”

“And you’re such a stickler for rules.”

“For mine, yeah.”

Another solid ten seconds of exchanging glares passed before Anders decided to take a shot. “On two conditions.”

Max raised his chin to indicate he’d listen at least. Anders tried to ignore how his heart beat picked up in his chest.

“I want you to tell me about your day.”

A visible tick appeared in Max’s jaw. Anders’ tightened his grip on the shoebox the slightest bit. Despite a line never verbally drawn, Anders knew he pushed Max’s boundaries.

Voice stilted, Max said, “and the other?”

“You let me look at the cut under your arm.” One of the many that bled through last night.

“No.” Max turned around, not waiting for a counter, and stalked down the aisle.

Anders caught up to him in a few bounding steps. Lowering his voice he spoke quickly and more forcefully than he normally handled Max. “You let me look at that cut and any other open wounds or you don’t get in bed with me tonight.”

Jerking to a stop, Max swiveled his head around and stared at Anders wide eyed. Almost breathless, he asked, “I can sleep with you tonight?”

It really shouldn’t mean that much to him. 

Anders really shouldn’t be using it to bargain with him.

“If you let me clean you up.”

Eyes still wide, anchored on Anders face, Max held perfectly still, nervous energy contained for a bare moment. His tongue darted out to dab his lip before he straightened his posture and regained composure of his expression.

Knowing he had him, Anders kept his voice carefully neutral. “I’ll let you buy me something I need, not for the clinic, if you get yourself these shoes, tell me how you’ve been today, and let me take a look at you.”

Although Anders wasn’t exactly sure why, Max flushed the slightest bit. “You don’t want to know what I did?”

That wasn’t the clarification Anders expected to be asked for. “Only if you want to tell me,” Anders replied after a moment of weighing what the wording meant to Max. “I want to know how you're feeling, if you’ve had a good day.”

“Yeah,” Max’s voice came out strained and he truly blushed. “Okay.”

Max handed him a thick roll of twenties rubber banded together that screamed shady and went out of the store ahead of him.

At the register, Anders asked for a gift receipt.

-

Three things immediately caught Anders’ attention upon their arrival home. One, the Jetta was gone. Two, lights were on in the house Anders had not left on. This was especially concerning since Max didn’t use lights. Three, the giant mabari sat pillar straight on the porch, like a guardian statue at a temple.

Anders peeked at Max for a cue. Although the car ride home had been quiet, the soft glow of Max’s simple happiness had warmed the air between them. Now they sat in the circle driveway, car off and Max’s silence cutting. The smile had vanished from his face leaving it perfectly blank staring straight at the curtained windows, the only light in a clouded night. His posture had changed from a comfy slouch to straight, head raised. He wasn’t tense, nothing defensive about him.

There was nothing about him.

Unreadable.

After long enough Anders thought he might choke on his nerves, Max tugged his hood back up and said, “let’s crack on, then.”

The thick Irish accent returning was nearly as startling as the sound of Max racking a gun _that Anders hadn’t even noticed_. Before Anders could protest or say any other stupid thing, Max was out of the car, slamming the door behind him hard enough it rocked the car. 

Anders scrambled out after him, almost called for him, but Max was already on the porch. His walk, those awkward missed steps, changed. From the set of his shoulders, shift of his balance, even the way he held his head, transformed him to someone with purpose. Someone hunting for a fight.

“Jesus Christ,” Anders muttered.

Passing the mabari, Max gestured with his gun. As if he gave it an order, it trotted from its spot and towards Anders. Anders slowed, gauging its body language. He was certainly not its master and would not expect the friendliness it showed Max. The dog sat at the bottom of the porch steps and waited for Anders.

Anders stood in front of it. It looked up at him curiously.

“Uh, hello there.”

The mabari’s butt wiggled where it sat, tiny tail wagging. Anders let out a breath.

“Okay, then. If I could just get by?” He tried to step around it.

It shuffled over to get in the way. Still a friendly as before, it looked up at him, and let out a small yip.

“Seriously?”

It whined. 

“Look, I don’t know what he told you, but this is where I live and I want to go in there.” He stuck his hand out towards the doorway as if the dog needed an explanation.

The dog snorted. Then, stupidly similar to its master, the mabari nudged Anders’ hand, sticking its head under his palm for attention.

“Don’t try to distract me.” 

The mabari whined softly, long and sad, nudging Anders’ hand again. Anders might have pet it just a little. 

Until the screaming started, in a language Anders didn’t understand and then to wordless rage, followed by a crash. The dog jumped from its spot, whirling around and shooting into the house. Anders was right behind it. Although he knew Max didn’t really need a gun, Anders still took a little bit of comfort in the lack of gunfire.

“Hawke!” Merrill yelled, “Hawke, put him down! You’re hurting him!”

Anders burst into the kitchen right behind the dog, in time to see Max drag Fenris from the wall. He threw Fenris to the floor, hard enough it sent him skidding. Unconcerned with its master, the mabari put itself between the skirmish and Merrill.

In a beat, Fenris was up and flying towards Max. 

Max didn’t wait for him. Faster than Fenris, Max darted forward. Hand shooting out in a blur, he grabbed Fenris by the throat. This time when Max slammed him to the floor, it was with all his weight, pinning him there. Max cocked the fist of his other hand.

Anders lurched forward to prevent Merrill from touching Max, but too late, she grabbed his forearm. However, instead of lashing out at her, or even ignoring her, Max stilled. Underneath him, Fenris struggled for a breath, blood flowing from his nose and ear torn from an earlier hit, but he didn’t fight to get Max off of him.

Merrill held tight to Max, her eyes meeting his. Softly, in a plea, she said, “let him go, Hawke.”

Max answered her in the language he screamed before, this time quiet.

“I know, Hawke, I know,” she said before switching to the same language.

Unbelievably, Max lowered his fist. Releasing Fenris, Max rose to a stand. Merrill still didn’t let go, watching him as he looked down at Fenris.

“Am I wrong, Hawke?” Fenris croaked.

Max kicked him hard enough it flipped him over. Struggling to get his chest off the floor, Fenris clutched his stomach and dry heaved. 

“Hawke!” Merrill shoved at him. “Bad Hawke!”

In response, Max kissed the top of her head. He ruffled her hair and then started walking away before she could slap his hand. She let out a frustrated huff and then turned away to kneel beside Fenris. Max didn’t look at Anders when he shoved by, mabari at his heels, and walked out the way the came. Anders stared after him.

Before Anders could figure out if he should follow him, the mess Max left behind took priority.

“Fenris, please wake up,” she asked, almost polite if not for the waver in her voice. She struggled to roll him over.

In an instant, Anders was there, taking over, and setting to work.

“There’s a medical kit under the sink. Bring that and hot water.”

Merrill said thank you before she left, but it barely registered, Anders distracted wondering how many times he would have to clean up blood from this floor.

-

Fenris would be fine as long as Max didn’t come back to finish the job. With the little bit of assistance Merrill offered, and Fenris lucid at one point, they managed to lie him on a futon in a side parlor. Anders didn’t bother suggesting a hospital this time.

Despite being reasonably upset before, Merrill’s hands were steady as she prepared tea. This time Anders watched carefully, less judgemental, wishing to replicate the perfect cup she made.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Merrill said as if she were any more in control of Max’s actions as anyone else. “They’re not always like this.”

She placed Anders' tea in front of him before fetching her own. Perching delicately on the stool across the island from him, Merrill cupped her mug in her hands.

Anders had to ask the obvious. “What happened between them?”

Merrill sighed softly. “Things have never been simple with those two.” After a moment of contemplative quiet, she said, “the first time they met Hawke said he fell in love. He does that sometimes. It was very sweet. The second time Hawke stabbed Fenris six times. He also does that sometimes.”

While not exactly a surprising revelation, it still took a moment for Anders to wrap his mind around it. Max stabbed Fenris six times and then they got together, or fucked, or fell in love, or whatever the hell happened with Max around.

“Hawke is rather sensitive when it comes to Bethany. It took both Varric and Aveline to pull Hawke off of him. I don’t think Hawke would have killed him. He was very careful with where he stabbed.”

“Careful.”

“Oh yes. He knows all the places to stick pointy things so they don’t puncture organs. He’s very good at it. Very quick.”

Yeah, Anders bet.

“Who’s Bethany?”

Merrill shook her head. “I don’t think Hawke would want me to tell you that.”

Anders nodded. He looked at his own tea, still steaming, likely too hot. He wondered if Max would tell him if he asked. He wasn’t sure how close he wanted to be to Max at the moment.

“What happened tonight?”

“I’m not sure he would want me to tell you that either.” Merrill bit her lip. She looked at him with big innocent eyes. “But it involves you. It’s only fair you know. At least part of it.”

Great.

“Fenris called you Hawke’s next victim. Hawke didn’t like it. He thinks he’s in love with you.”

“He’s not.”

“No,” Merrill agreed softly, “most likely not. 

Why did that hurt?

“He does love you,” Merrill said as if she thought to comfort him. “But I doubt he is in love with you. He just doesn’t know better.”

Anders hated the petty part of him that needed to know. “Was he in love with Fenris?”

Merrill shook her head. “No. No, and Fenris knows that. It wasn’t a problem until Fenris fell in love with him and realized Hawke would never love him any differently. I think it must be why he hates you so much.”

Great. A guy he met once hates him. Because the lunatic that wasn’t in love with him was now fixated on Anders.

The thought caused a flicker of guilt. He diminished Max’s feelings so quickly. Cut down his identity to crazy. Why? Why did Anders need to keep doing that?

“Why are you two even here? Does everyone just walk into this house?”

Merrill cringed. “Hawke allows me to use his library. Fenris… He thought Hawke would be home. When he was not, the next place to check is here. I---followed him, trying to convince him not to. It’s better not to upset Hawke while Varric is away.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if Varric was here?” Anders asked flatly. “Hawke would have just ignored him?”

Yes, it had been impressed upon him quite heavily that Varric and Hawke were best friends. Yes, Varric knew how Max thought way too well for a sane man. Yes, Max talked about Varric unprompted, but Anders had a hard time believing anyone, Varric or not, could control the extremes that were Max.

“Yes. Maybe he would have laughed.” She smiled, just a little. "Of course Fenris wouldn’t have dared if Varric was here.”

“I can’t wait for Varric to come home,” Anders muttered.

Merrill giggled. “Aveline texted me the exact same thing this morning.”

Anders somehow managed to smile too.

-

Anders woke to the click of the lightswitch and a flood of light from his bathroom. Groggy, Anders sat up and tried to focus. There was the sound of running water and then a muttered, “fuck.” A coat hit the tiled floor.

Shifting around, Anders stood up from bed and padded over to the bathroom. Squinting from the bright light, Anders leaned his forearm on the doorway and looked inside. Hoodie and shirt off, Max stood, torso naked and back to the mirror, trying to look over his shoulder at it.

The scabs from the road burn had done a poor job of healing so far, likely from Max picking them open. What was more concerning were the bits of metal embedded in his shoulder. Since he wore a coat before, and the blood had dried around the metal stuck in his skin, Anders guess this must have happened earlier. Much earlier. Half a day earlier. They shopped with shrapnel in his back.

“Christ, Max,” Anders rasped, throat horse from sleep.

“I know,” Max snapped, accent thick, “fuck! I know.”

Sighing, Anders shook his head and straightened up. “Sit on the toilet,” Anders said as he walked in, “and no complaining. This was part of the deal.”

For a moment, Max studied him, face blank, and holding his body in the careful state of nothing. He dabbed his lip with his tongue and then lowered himself onto the lid. He didn’t take his eyes from Anders as Anders retrieved another first aid kit from under the sink.

Anders was as grateful now as Max had been then that they made that deal.

Neither spoke as he worked. Max flinched at his first touch, something Anders knew had nothing to do with pain. He worked quickly, carefully, picking pieces out with tweezers and wiping it clean. It was towards the end, later than Anders expected, when Max’s breathing began to change. All the shrapnel out, Anders started applying antibiotic ointment, and a shiver went through Max. Muscles rippled under his skin and he let out a soft groan.

Anders clenched his jaw, but he didn’t sigh and he didn’t stop.

By the time he capped the tube, Max had doubled over, curling in on himself, so tense he nearly vibrated.

“Max,” Anders said.

Max didn’t answer. 

“I’m going to give you time. When you come out I’ll have clothes for you, okay?”

Again, Max didn’t answer. Expecting nothing else, Anders walked around him, made to leave, but Max caught him by the wrist and tugged Anders around. Hand gripping Anders almost bruising tight, Max looked up at him, eyes endless tunnels of black.

“Let me,” he said, voice as raw as it had been after he screamed at Fenris, but now American accented.

“Max--”

“Anders, let me. Let me suck you off. I’ll do so good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

Anders didn’t know a heart could be as heavy as this and not collapse. “Max, no.”

“Please, Anders,” Max pleaded, “I love you.”

“No, you don’t,” Anders said gently. He tugged his wrist and Max let go. 

Max looked up at him with painful longing, so sweet, almost innocent, that pureness Merrill insisted existed in him. It was that, his eyes searching for anything, that had Anders cupping his jaw. Anders stroked his thumb over the sharp of Max’s cheekbone and Max leaned into the touch.

“This isn’t what love is, Max.” Anders said, the sadness in his voice offensive to his own ears. He had no right to it. 

Looking away, Max stood up suddenly enough Anders almost didn’t have time to step back. He grabbed his hoodie from the bathroom floor, pulled it over his head, and then retrieved his jacket too. Head bowed, he slid by Anders, careful not to touch. Fuck Anders for looking down, for confirming how much Max wanted him.

Hood up, coat on, Max was out of his bedroom before Anders could process what was happening. Anders stood there, staring at empty air, trying to reason out what just happened. The thing was, the most terrible thing, was Max behaved reasonably. He was rejected. He left. He didn’t torture himself sleeping in the same bed as Anders. Didn’t force Anders into an awkward position or try to coerce him with the promise he made.

He didn’t try to argue. He didn’t have an outburst.

Max left like he was the sanest man in the room.

The warmth of Max’s skin still lingering on his palm, Anders mechanically cleaned up the bathroom and disinfected the tools in his kit. Then he went to bed, lying awake in the dark, until his alarm went off three hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress. Or close enough. Good job, boys


	8. Chapter 8

_Hanged Man @ 9 be there or be square_

_I’m working tomorrow_

_What I mean is be there or I come to the clinic and drag your ass there._

_Good luck_

_Or I’ll spray paint something naughty on the front door. Hawke would let me too_

_Fine._

-

Anders loathed to admit it, especially to Isabela, but he was looking forward to going to the Hanged Man. Or maybe he was just anxious to get there. He found his work done early and paced a bit, looking for something to do, before it irritated Lirene enough she kicked him out.

Come 8:30 Anders was in the Hanged Man and ordering his first drink. Isabela sashayed up a minute later, smirk on her face. Ignoring her best he could, Anders accepted his drink. Isabela slapped her hand on the bar hard enough Anders jumped.

“What.”

“You’re here early,” she grinned. 

“Just can’t stay away from you, Isabela.”

“Rarely a man can, sparkle fingers,” she purred, eyes heated with--no. No, that was mischief.

Anders lowered his drink before even taking a sip. “Isabela,” he said, matching her casual, “what did you do?”

“Why, I have no idea what you could possibly mean. Why are you always accusing me of things? What have I ever done--”

Their eyes held. Anders only raised his brow.

Crossing her arms over her chest she looked way and scowled. Anders refrained from wholly smirking.

“What do you want from me,” Isabela said it like a challenge.

“An apology would be nice.” Anders sipped his drink.

“I already apologized to Hawke,” she scoffed.

“It was my clinic! It was me!”

“Yeah, but you won’t skin me alive. Can never be sure Hawke won’t,” she reasoned.

“Why does anyone stick with him?” 

Isabela’s smirk came back along with that gleam in her eyes. “You got a lot of balls saying that considering the gossip I’ve heard recently.”

Although he already suspected Merrill, Anders narrowed his eyes and demanded, “gossip from who?”

“Just gossip,” Isabela replied loftily, shrugging a shoulder and then leaning against the bar. “Don’t worry. Hawke didn’t say anything when he crawled into my bed last night.”

Over the years Anders experienced a lot of inner turmoil, his fair share of traumatic events even before ending up in the Wardens. But it wasn’t until that moment Anders truly understood the idiom “hit you like a sucker punch.” Anders hadn’t realized it wasn’t just the comparison to pain or force, but the nausea, like your stomach was climbing up your throat.

“Jesus, Anders,” Isabela cursed, seeing his fallen face, “you actually like him.”

Anders could only stand there, speechless. He was supposed to be saying no. He was supposed to be saying that’s ridiculous. Instead, he stood there, helpless to explain, Isabela looking at him as if she was angry about it.

“You fucking moron. How do you think this is going to work out?”

“I don’t,” he snapped back to reality. “I don’t,” he repeated, this time quieter. “Nothing’s going to happen. “

Leaning in, Isabela lowered her voice to a furious whisper. “Does Hawke know that? Because he’s not going to lose interest.” Tapping on the bar with her finger, she got progressively louder. “That’s not how Hawke works.”

“Than how does he work, Isabela? Because nobody seems to have a clear idea.”

Isabela made a disgusted noise.

“You don’t know either.”

Finally she leaned away, back out of his space. Crossing her arms over her chest once more, she glared. “You don’t know Hawke.”

“Yes, that’s the problem,” Anders bit out, patience wearing thin. Drawing from his bottom reserves of goodwill, Anders sighed. “Look, can we just drop it for the night? Why are we here anyway?”

Although reluctant to let him go so easy, Isabela scoffed and then looked away to signal the bartender for herself. “Varric just came home, so we’re welcoming him back upstairs.”

“Varric has a room here?”

Isabela side eyed him, looking at him like he was stupid. “Yeah, he lives here.”

-

Jug of unidentified liquor under her arm, Isabela led Anders up the stairs to Varric’s room. Anders carried the two she forced on him. Although the walk had been short, Anders felt out of breath. Chances were the “we” included Max. How was he supposed to deal with that? How would Max after last night?

Aside from the quick conversation with Aveline, and the brief moment with Fenris, Anders never interacted with Max around other people. They had never been together socially. Everything he got from Max had been just them.

Now the expert was here, Varric home, and Max would be in there. Before last night Anders would have been clueless as to what to do. Now he just hoped… Anders didn't know what he hoped. He just didn't want to do that again, Max leaving, silent and unable to meet his eyes.

Muffled voices came through the door, Varric's baritone and unmistakably Max. Irish accent, Max spoke with the same bizarre intonation as when he used an American. They laughed. Anders felt dizzy. 

Isabela barged in without knocking. “There, I brought this jug of human piss,” she said jerking her thumb behind her at Anders, “and also liquor.”

Anders would have at least feigned offense if he could think anything beyond Max. 

Max leaned against the wall, wearing the same dirty bloody clothes he left in last night. He smiled his little smile at Isabela before glancing to Anders. A blush rose to cheeks and he looked to the floor, biting his lip.

“Come on now, Isabela,” Varric said sounding reproachful despite his smirk, “Blondie’s trying his best.”

“Well, it’s not very impressive." Isabela dropped the jug on the table with a clunk. Hands on her hips, she looked Max up and down. “Sight for sore eyes, aren’t you? Did you at least shower before you left?”

“Filthier in your bed than out it, fine thing,” Max flirted, the shyness a moment ago evaporated.

“Yeah, you are,” Isabela purred. Still, her smile didn't quite meet her eyes. “But really, Hawke it's going to be a matter of hygiene at some point.”

Max shrugged.

After what seemed to be a moment of private deliberation, she raised her chin. “Hawke, take me shopping.”

Almost instantly that sweet smile curled his lips. “Ta hell with poverty. Anything for my girl.” Pushing himself up from where he leaned. Hawke rolled his shoulders and then flipped his hood up. “But short night. Gotta see a man ‘bout a nixer.”

“Try not to cut anymore pieces off of him, Hawke. We still need a contact,” Varric advised.

“It’s like you don’t trust me.”

The look Varric gave him could only be described as fond. With another smile to Isabela, almost apologetic, and then a nod to Varric, Max turned from them, towards the door. Towards Anders.

Their eyes met. It didn't occur to him to move. He couldn't move. Suddenly, Max's smile wasn't sweet at all. Ambling over in that awkward uneven way of his, Max made to go by him. Only this time Max made no effort to avoid touching him. He was in Anders’ space, almost pressing against him so Anders was forced to inch by, the bulk of the jugs making it that much more difficult.

At this point, Max had room to leave. Instead, he stepped that little bit closer, leaned in so close their foreheads could have touched and whispered, all American and sneering, “hi, Anders.”

Before Anders could do something more ridiculous than he already was, just blankly staring as Max looked him up and down, Max pulled away and slid by, out of the room. Not looking back, he gave them one last wave of goodbye before disappearing down the stairs.

“Well that wasn’t fun at all,” Isabela complained. “I thought this was going to be big and loud and Hawke. No one even got stabbed.”

Shaken back to the moment, Anders closed the door behind him with his foot and then walked to the table to deposit the liquor next to where Isabela put hers.

“Your expectations have been way too high ever since the thing with the mayor’s son when Hawke got into it with the Winters.” Varric set down three glasses.

Uncapping the jug, Isabela sighed longingly. “Nothing fun happens anymore.” She complained as she poured. “Everyone wants a piece of Hawke and Man Hands is always on his ass. He should just kill Rutherford and take Bethany and we can all run away to Indonesia.”

“No sure how on board Merrill and Fenris would be with that plan.”

“True, where would we be without the eye candy.” She knocked back her drink. This time she filled all three glasses.

“So, Blondie.” 

“Oh god,” Anders muttered. He wasn’t ready for this. Taking his glass, he drank deep before he had to hear what else Varric had to say.

“I believe I owe you an apology.”

Isabela raised her brow. “Oh this should be good.”

Varric shot her a look. “Isabela, would you mind waiting outside.”

She scoffed. “Sure, throw me out now that I’ve done your dirty work.”

“Isabela.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, but then smiled. “I’ll see you at Wicked Grace tomorrow. Try to go easy on him, Varric. Anders isn’t all that clever.”

“Gee, thanks.” 

Isabela waved her hand dismissively. Just like Hawke, she didn’t look back when she left. She did, surprisingly, close the door. A small courtesy, but considering Isabela didn’t always come to a full stop when telling people to get out of her car, it was significant.

“We need to talk.”

“No shit, Varric.” Anders wasn’t sure if he sounded more hysterical than angry.

Varric sighed and gestured at the open chair on the table. He dropped himself in the other and then grabbed his own drink. Feeling as weary as Varric suddenly looked, Anders complied.

“So. Hawke.”

Anders gave him a flat look.

“Fine, fine, so Hawke’s in love with you.”

“No, he’s not,” Anders interjected automatically.

Unexpectedly, Varric gave a dry laugh. “I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

“Merrill said--”

“Daisy also thinks he’s pure of heart so I wouldn’t necessarily trust her as the authority on Max Hawke.”

That. That was fair. Scowling, Anders sipped his drink. Still. “He’s not in love with me. He just thinks he is.”

“Blondie, I know I haven’t done much to earn it lately, but you have to trust me on this one. Hawke is in love with you and frankly it’s scaring the shit out of me so I need you to listen up.”

“How can you even tell?” Anders demanded. “You said so yourself, he does this all the time.”

“No, Hawke’s never done this before. Normally when he fixates on someone he talks about how in love with them he is. He talks about how sexy he thinks they are, about what he would do for them. It’s all about Hawke. But not with you. When he talks about you, it’s about _you_. It’s about what you said or what you’re doing.”

“That’s it? That’s your big reveal?”

“Will you quit acting like an ass and listen? Denying it doesn’t make it any less real. He asks me for advice, worries he fucked up, doubts himself. He never did that before. Hell, I didn’t know Hawke had the capacity to doubt himself. He has ego enough to drown Kirkwall but you make him wonder if he’s not good enough for you. Anyone else the moment they walked in this room he would have been all over them. You think he ever blushed for Isabela?”

“Okay, fine.” Anders tried to repress something that might have been panic clawing up his chest or the fluttering of hope. “Say I believe you, what am I supposed to do about it? How did this even happen? How do I make it stop?”

“Stop encouraging him,” Varric snapped, tone going vicious in a way Anders never expected from him. “Don’t deny that either. Hawke doesn’t do casual. Allowing him to sleep in your bed after I got him to stop is not casual.”

“I know,” Anders muttered. He ran a hand over his face and let out a bitter laugh. “I know. I shouldn’t have. I knew better. I _know_ better. But the way he looks at me…” 

Anders didn’t know how to finish that. He meant to drink again only to find his glass empty. Varric slid his over.

“Well, shit.”

Anders gave him a weak smile. “Yeah.” He dropped his eyes to the drink, but didn’t pick it up. “What do I do?”

Surprisingly, Varric’s tone turned light. “That's not for me to say, Blondie.”

“Varric, out of all the times for you not to give me your opinion and advice this is the time I desperately want it.”

“First of all, I'm offended. You should always want my opinion. Second, my opinion and advice are two extremely different things.”

“Then give me both!”

“Opinion? You'd make Hawke happy. Advice? Run. You should leave now.”

“ _That’s_ your advice?”

“I’m Hawke’s best friend, yeah, but I have too much of a conscience to let you walk into this without a proper warning.”

“I’m not completely naive, Varric,” Anders retorted. “I did see--He--” Anders let out a breath and then finished quietly. “I know what he’s capable of.”

Varric chuckled, too sardonic for good humor. “No, no you don’t. If you did you’d have already cut your losses and bailed. I know, you’re thinking, yeah, he’s done some fucked up shit, but you love him. You think you could make that sacrifice to your soul.”

“Why are you always so dramatic?”

Varric continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “You think you’re fucked now? You already love him so you might as well see it out? You aren’t fucked. Not yet. When you're fucked you'll realize you can love someone and not want to see them ever again. My advice? You don't know Hawke, Blondie, and by the time you do, it's going to be too late.”

-

Varric ordered him an uber. It was too late to argue, Varric prepared with “it's twenty three dollars, Blondie. I think I can afford it. You can pay me back the thirty one cents for convenience costs. I had to change the default address in the app.”

Sometime during the evening it rained, but the clouds remained, leaving Anders’ lonely walk along the pathway to the porch dark and slippery. He was right at that tip of buzzed where everything felt too easy. After all the emotional peaks and despair this evening, Anders finally resigned himself. He could finally accept the result of his series of poor decisions.

He didn’t feel lighter for it. If anything it was a weight around his neck. But there was a peace to it, a certainty in that weight.

Anders didn’t need starlight to recognize Max in the darkness. He could see him in the shape of his silhouette. Anders knew him by the immediate catch in his breath and the static down his spine. Hands in his pockets, hood up, and nervous energy tumtulous around him, Max did his best to wait even with the tension in him, almost as if he was being pushed forward.

For the countless times Isabela accused him of having a heart too soft, Anders only truly agreed with her now. It shouldn’t ache in his chest to see Max standing there. Someone like Max wasn’t who Anders should be sparing his pity for. Someone like Max shouldn’t be someone who could evoke pity. 

As he drew closer, some of the tension in Max seemed to ease. He had at least changed his sweatshirt under his jacket from a ragged bloodstained hoodie to just a ragged one. He wore his same beat up sneakers instead of the new ones they argued over. 

Anders sighed. Max’s visible tensing at the sound set Anders back a second to think. He almost winced remembering all the times he sighed in exasperation or disapproval.

“I’m not angry at you,” Anders offered. 

Max only tensed more, causing Anders to belatedly remember the last time he claimed not to be angry at Max.

“Right,” he muttered, “let’s try again,” but couldn’t find the words to follow.

Instead, he stood quiet and still as Max looked him over. He took a step closer, looking up and down, as if expecting injuries. When he met Anders eyes, his face was pensive and gaze searching. Then he dropped his eyes to the ground. 

In the very clear way only a tipsy mind could see something so complicated in a situation so simple, Anders recognized to walk past Max and into the house would be significant. That going in the house and going to bed by himself, without a conversation at all, would mean something more than every other fragile moment he disregarded when it came to Max Hawke.

So he did what Max did for him. Anders waited

As if sensing Anders’ resolve, Max raised his eyes to him once more. Quiet, but hoarse, Max asked, “what do you want from me?”

For once, Anders was honest with both Max and himself. “I don’t know.”

Closing the small space between them, Max only hesitated a moment before leaning against Anders. Max pressed against him, hiding his face in the crook of Anders’ neck. Anders barely noticed himself dropping his bag to the ground so he could wrap his arms around Max. 

The sour scents of gasoline and vinegar clung to his clothes, but underneath it was Max. At Anders’ touch, Max shuddered, and then pressed closer. One hand clung to Anders clothes, the other caught in his hair as it came to rest on the back of his neck.

Together, Max moved them, rocking them back and forth gently, a slow dance together. The touch of his lips against Anders’ throat was light enough to be accidental. Anders didn’t mention it. Max didn’t try again, his breath hot and uneven against the sensitive skin.

Before Anders realized he thought the words, he was already speaking softly into Max’s hair. “Come upstairs.”

And Max _trembled_ in his arms.

“I can’t,” he choked out. His shoulders shook with a sound that could have been a laugh or a soft cry. “I can’t. You can’t do that to me.”

“Max--”

“I would do anything for you,” Max bit out, just sharp enough for Anders to expect when it broke over the following question. “Why don’t you want me?”

Anders wanted him. Anders wanted him for longer than he could have ever admitted on his own. Anders never wanted someone so badly in his life. 

Anders knew better than this.

“Sometimes want isn’t enough.”

Slowly, Max pulled away, lifting his head from Anders’ shoulder to meet his eyes. “I love you. Why don’t you love me too?”

“Come upstairs.” 

There were some presumptions better left uncorrected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody be relieved. Varric is home
> 
> next chapter changes story rating to e


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> earning that E rating. Can't promise it'll be good, but it's something

Max hesitated at the threshold of Anders’ room. After all the times he waltzed in uninvited it should have seemed an empty gesture, but Anders could see it in the hang of his head, how significant this step was to Max. The universe, Max, offered another opportunity for Anders to draw lines, lie down clear terms, set limits in an exact and safe manner.

Anders, stupid selfish, more scared than he had a right to be, said nothing. Instead he turned away, set his bag aside and toed off his shoes, hung his jacket on the hook. When he heard nothing from Max, he looked over his shoulder.

There he stood, fidgeting, expression agony, eyes darting to the side rather than meet Anders’.

“Max,” Anders said softly.

“Anders, please,” Max pleaded, the two words begging Anders to explain to him what it meant, what this invitation entailed.

Anders, coward that he was, pretended he hadn’t understood. He put it off. He needed more time. He didn’t know what he meant by it either.

“Shut the door behind you if you’re staying.

As if he didn’t already know how it would go, Anders waited to see Max edge in, head bowed. He shut the door behind him. Although he still refused to meet Anders eyes, he blushed when Anders smiled.

 _You think he ever blushed for Isabela?_ Varric had asked the question like an accusation. No, Anders couldn’t imagine Max had.

Max grew more and more tense as Anders watched him, shoulders hunching and mouth in a tightline. 

“Come here, Max,” Anders heard himself saying.

Max slunk over to stand in front of Anders. He offered no resistance when Anders caught him by the front his jacket and tugged him closer. Like the most natural thing in the world, Max fell into him the same as he did so often. On instinct or autopilot, Anders combed his fingers through his hair and then rested his hand on Max’s neck.

Taking it as a sign, a little permission, Max nuzzled Anders throat. He slipped his hand under the fringe of Anders’ shirt, but only to hold his hip. He didn’t try for more, just pressed close. Anders thought he could feel Max’s heart racing in his chest. He wished he imagined the way Max trembled against him.

It was honestly pitiful.

Moments like this Anders believed everything Varric claimed. Anders could believe more than just meaning what he said, Max truly did love him. How could Max Hawke of all people be made so small? How could Anders have been the one to do that to him?

Anders didn’t know what to do about the way his heart wrenched in his chest. He didn’t know what to do with the pity that now filled him and he didn’t know how to love Max in a way that Max would want. He didn’t know what Max wanted beyond--

Anders didn’t know Max.

“Let me undress you,” Max murmured against his throat. His hand slipped up Anders’ side, caressed his ribs in a way that made his heart jump. “That’s all, I promise.” Instantly Max broke his word, kissing his neck and then nipping gently.

Anders tried not to sigh.

“Please,” Max asked, the barest edge of desperation in his voice. “I think about it all the time.” Before Anders could think of a reply to that, Max rushed on, “Just undressing you. Nothing else. I just--” 

Grip now tight, Max pulled away from Anders, raising his head to finally meet his eyes, face so earnest for eyes so empty. “I just want to be the one to undress you.”

It was surreal, somehow more intimate than if Max admitted to imagining sex.

This time Anders looked away, pulled away. 

“What if I told you ‘no’?” Another thing Anders hadn’t really meant to say. He hadn’t known he could be cruel until he met Max. It was a question though. What if Anders said no to all of this. What would happen if he said yes? “What if I said no about this?”

When Anders realized how many seconds passed with no reply he looked back to Max. Absolutely shattered. Anders had diagnosed terminal illnesses that caused less heartbreak. Max stood, ridgid, all the blood drained from his face, and eyes enormous.

“I’m not saying ‘no,’” Anders clarified. For a reason he’d rather not examine, his heart raced. “I’m not telling you ‘no’, I was just.” He half shrugged, losing nerve. “I was just wondering.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say to that?” Max’s voice was high and pained.

Anders shrugged again. He tried to ignore the shame sinking in.

“I don’t know what I’d do. I don’t know what I’m doing now. I haven’t known what the fuck I was doing since I met you.” The quiet shyness was rapidly receding, for something much louder, something touching panic. “You can’t keep doing this, Anders. You can’t keep,” his voice broke, “ _fucking_ with me.”

Anders nearly apologized before his brain caught up and realized how “I’m sorry” might sound. Swallowing down his regret and all his trepidation, Anders tried again.

“I’m not fucking with you.”

If anything Max’s apprehension increased. 

“Yes,” Anders said before he could think better of it. “Yeah, you can undress me.”

Max let out a small broken laugh. “Are you sure?”

Anders didn’t know if Max was going to cry, but he’d rather gouge his own eyes out than see it. On impulse, Anders gathered Max close, kissed his temple, kissed his cheek. Max went from there, tilting his head to slot their lips together. Without waiting for a response from Anders, Max pushed his tongue between his lips and licked into his mouth.

Anders hadn’t meant to make a noise like that, something halfway between surprise and a moan, but Max liked it. He kissed deeper, hand moving from Anders’ shirt to tangle in his hair. He walked Anders backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed.

Unceremoniously, with that inhuman strength, Max lifted Anders to toss him onto the middle of the bed. Faster than Anders could recover, Max was on him, head dipping down to reestablish the kiss.

Hand between them, but grip tight on his hoodie, Anders held him away. Max stilled, breath stuttering.

“Take your jacket off,” Anders said it more like an explanation than an order. “You smell like diesel fumes and cheap heroine.”

This time Max’s laugh was halfway towards incredulous, but there was humor. Still straddling Anders, he sat up and shrugged his jacket off.

Tossing it aside, he gave Anders a nod and raised an eyebrow. “Your junkie patients come in smelling like me?”

“Do you tell your parents what’s in your pocket isn’t yours?” Anders tried to joke, match his sardonic tone.

Max snorted. “Leandra wouldn’t give a shit.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Max ducked his head once more. This time he kissed with more confidence, cupping Anders jaw, tender for how filthy he made the kiss. Anders still clung to the front of his sweatshirt, his other hand now running down his back, causing Max to shudder. Anders groaned when Max bit his lip. They broke apart, breathing quick and heavy, and Anders was so so hard.

Easy to assume Max was too. Max pressed his hips down as if to reassure him.

“I’m going to take your clothes off now,” Max said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Not rushed at all, Max pushed Anders’ shirt up, eyes raking over his chest. He licked his bottom lip and then drew a breath and let it out slow. Leaning down, he nuzzled Anders’ cheek as he skimmed his hand down his side and then back up to rest on his ribs, palm hot in the cool air. Anders’ breath caught. He shivered despite himself.

Max made a soft sound of satisfaction, as if Anders' reaction was all he wanted. He nosed along Anders' jaw and then kissed the corner before pausing. Anders' hands began to ache for how tightly he clutched Max. 

Disappointment swung heavy in his stomach when Max pulled away instead of kissing him again. It took a moment for Anders to remember Max was only undressing him. Even if he settled himself over Anders, even if he seemed to fill the whole room with his presence and burning body heat, Max's hands moved intimately more than sexually.

Sliding his hand under the small of Anders' back, Max lifted him, but gave his shoulders no support. It forced him to use his grip on Max to pull himself up. Max took his weight easily, as if Anders hadn't pulled on him at all.

Anders watched Max as he went about his task, moved his arm when prompted so Max could slid his shirt off of him. Max wore a little smile, something that read smug one moment and disbelief the next.

Max tossed the shirt aside and ran his hands over every inch of skin it once covered. Although his touch was light, the rough of his calloused hands caused goosebumps. The contrast felt electric on the newly exposed skin. Max skimmed his palms over Anders' shoulders and then higher.

Hands on either side of Anders' neck, Max pressed his thumbs under his chin to tip his head back.

Their eyes met. Even so close Anders couldn't see color in his irises, just black, unnaturally sized leaving little white. This close left no doubt every moment Max's eyes seemed like soulless pits was real.

This close, with Max's hands on throat, Anders remembered so sharply the first night they met, Max squeezing his windpipe as he held him one handed against the kitchen wall. 

Anders heart beat wildly in his chest, not from the memory, but from how carefully Max touched him now. 

The act felt surreal, the moment too fragile. This bizarre ceremony Max imagined he treated almost as if sacred.

He dipped his head, breath brushing Anders' lips, but he didn't lean forward and his hold didn't allow Anders the movement to meet his mouth. Instead, he whispered.

"Anders, let me suck you off. I'll be so good for you. I'll make it so good."

Anders felt as if his throat was being squeezed again. "Max--"

"I'm undressing you," Max reiterated the original plan before offering, "I'm undressing you and when I'm done you can tell me 'no' or you just let me."

Anders closed his eyes and didn't quite sigh, his exhale too shaky to be one. He wanted to laugh when he caught himself wishing Varric was there to tell him what this would mean to Max, why getting Anders off was so important to him. He was so so tired of bargaining with Max without knowing the real stakes.

The quiet too long for him, Max broke it with a small, shaky, "please."

"Okay, Max," Anders answered, gently. It was fair enough. It still gave Anders an out. It still gave Anders a few more minutes of deluding himself about his ability to say no to Max.

Almost as though he feared Anders might change his mind if he replied, Max didn't answer, pulling his eyes away instead. One of his hands moved to catch in Anders' hair and the other slid to his waist. Directing Anders back down, he followed with his mouth, taking Anders' attention from any questions he might ask.

Anders had so many questions, wanted so many answers, struggling with how he could be so wrong about so many things with both Max and himself.

But Max's tongue was in his mouth and his hand holding Anders' wrist just tight enough to keep Anders from reaching for him. Thigh slotted between Anders' leg, Max made it all so much more sensual now with his goal within reach. He pressed down just a little more against Anders’ erection, causing Anders to gasp and arch up before getting a grip on himself.

Anders was too hot, burning, breathing too quickly and suddenly felt as though he was being smothered. However, before he could make the mistake of shoving him off, Max pulled away. Gently, he squeezed Anders' wrist of the hand clinging to him. Anders hadn't even noticed he still did. He let out a shaky laugh, barely audible even to himself. 

With Max no longer looming over him he thought he would have been able to breathe, maybe feel relief, but instead he felt exposed, wanting to reach for him again.

Why was it so intense? Why did everything with Max teeter between playful and volatile? Why did giving up anything to Max felt like admitting he lost?

He didn't have the time or the capacity to think further, Max's hands undoing his pants, sliding them and his underwear down. He was careful pulling them past Anders' erection. He didn't need Anders' assistance, moving his body himself and tugging them off. Through the entire process his other hand traced furrow from his hip to thigh, running up and down in a way that made Anders want to beg for Max to move his hand further down and _touch_ him.

But Anders didn't beg and Max didn't touch him. Not yet.

Struggling up to his elbows, Anders looked to Max. He needed to see what he was doing, try to figure out what he was thinking. It should have been simple, but it was Max. Even if Anders trusted him to do this, trusted Max with himself, Anders didn't trust his ability to handle Max. Anders couldn't trust himself to read any of it right.

"Lay down," Max said softly although he didn't look up to meet Anders' eyes. "Lay down so I can take care of you."

He stroked his hand over the inside of Anders' thigh. Another sharp intake, and then Anders was tipping his head back and groaning as Max did it again, this time letting his knuckles brush Anders' dick the slightest bit.

After that, Max's touches lost the smallest amount of softness. Hands on either side, Max pushed Anders' legs apart. At first it was enough for Max to fit himself in the space, but once he settled it became more. Grip firm, he spread Anders' legs wider, unnecessarily so, until Anders could feel the pulling stretch of his muscles, until it almost hurt. 

Reflexively he tried close his legs, but Max kept him in place, hands quick in motion, certain and massaging the strain.

"Trust me."

Anders thought he should say "I do." He thought to and then re-thought it, suddenly scared of getting it wrong again. Then it was too late to say anyway, the moment passed.

Max dipped his head, closing his mouth around the tip of Anders' dick.

Max already held him down, otherwise he would have bucked up into Max's mouth. He still wanted to, strained to now that he was sure Max would keep control of his body. It took so little effort from Max to keep him still. Too strong, too quick, too unstable, too cruel, too sweet, Max was too everything.

Max sucked just the tip, ran his tongue over the slit, starting with that, implying he would take his time. Anders didn’t want to wait. Again, he nearly laughed. Anders wasn’t supposed to want this. Max sunk further down and Anders choked back a cry, clenching his teeth. 

One more, Anders misinterpreted Max’s intention. Instead of light, Max sucked deep and hard, breathing apparently not required. By then Anders fingers twisted in Max’s hair and he was crying out. Another thing Max so easily ignored. Knowing his orgasm was imminent, Anders tried to pull, tried to tell him despite how his voice came nearly too tight for words.

Instead, Max gripped the base of Anders’ dick, tight. He sucked harder and Anders _couldn’t come_.

“Max,” Anders voice came raw, and his hands left Max’s hair to grab at his hoodie.

Max held tight and flexed his throat, ignored Anders’ plea said in a name. Anders felt as though he could feel Max’s rhythm through his whole body, heat consuming him.

“God, Max,” this time his words were nearly a cry, “ _please_.”

And suddenly it stopped. Max didn’t let go, no. He kept Anders’ hard and restrained in his hand, but he pulled his mouth off. Swiping the spit off his mouth and chin with the back of his other hand, he raised his head to look Anders in the eye. After the pounding desperation seconds before, the quiet of the room was too loud, begging to be shattered.

Both of them breathed heavily, but Anders’ was erratic. He couldn’t control himself, shivering under the intensity of Max’s gaze. He startled when Max stroked his thumb up the underside of his dick. He couldn’t clamp down his whine..

Swallowing thickly, Anders said, “please.”

Even in his current state of mind, Anders recognized the irony in it, the countless times Max said the same word to him and all the times Anders ignored it.

Max hissed through his teeth. Of course he wouldn’t deny Anders.

Twisting his wrist, he tugged, sliding his grip up through the slick of spit. Anders never came so hard or abruptly in his life. It didn’t register how he cried out until Max was kissing him, taking the sound, taking everything Anders had to offer. Max kissed him until Anders was whimpering into his mouth, trying to push Max’s hands away.

Max broke the kiss to move his mouth Anders’ neck, biting and sucking there even as his hand still worked Anders’ spent dick. What had been pleasurable now seemed to sting, the overstimulation nearly enough to cry.

“Please,” he pleaded.

And Max let him go.

Panting, trembling, nearly ready to collapse, Anders closed his eyes and leaned his head against Max’s as Max’s kisses turned gentle and he nuzzled Anders’ throat. When Max began to pull away, Anders slowly opened his eyes.

Max still knelt on the bed between his legs, still watched Anders as if either expecting a strike or to strike. Filthy hand to his mouth, Max started licking it clean.

“Ew, Max, no. That’s gross.”

A smile curved his lips behind his hand and he licked long and slow between his fingers. Anders tried to make a face of disgust, but Max’s smile turning to a smirk meant he knew better. Anders looked away, trying to force down his own smile and failing miserably.

Without Anders watching him, Max scooted forward, until he was pushing Anders’ to his back and then crawling over him. Instead of holding himself on top of him, Max settled next to him, front pressed to Anders’ side, arm draped over his chest. He tucked his face against Anders’ neck and let out that unmistakably happy sound of his.

At some point Anders’ arm circled him, holding Max close his body. Finally it seemed Max convinced him that yes, that was Max’s spot, that was where he belonged.

“Max.”

Pulling his face away, he looked up to Anders. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You know that, right?”

If not for the awkward beat of silence proceeding it, Max’s laugh could have been real. “What’s a little cock sucking between friends?”

Despite how Max tried to force levity, Anders kept his voice low and tone serious. “Is that what we are, Max?”

Like he couldn’t control it, Max’s expression gave everything away. That twist of agony. Too much honesty. What shook Anders was the return of Max’s accent.

“I don’t think I could ever be your friend, agra.”

Before Anders could respond. Max rolled away, showing Anders his back, and standing up. Shoving himself upright, Anders watched as Max snagged his jacket off the floor and checked the pockets.

“You’re leaving?”

Max flashed him a smile as he shrugged on his jacket. “Didn’t plan on staying, no.” He held up the tightly wrapped 8-ball of black tar. “A bribe doesn’t do much good in my pocket.”

It shouldn’t be so hard to figure out, but for a moment Anders struggled. Brow furrowed, Anders stared at Max. Sitting naked on his bed, spent, Anders watched as a fully dressed Max tucked the drugs back in his pocket and flipped up his hood. He glanced to Anders with a shy smile before looking away and shuffling his feet, blushing again.

It shouldn’t be so hard to process. Anders shouldn’t have such a sinking feeling over him leaving. He just… he shouldn’t have assumed Max would stay. Or maybe he should have. This, sleeping in Anders’ bed seemed to be Max’s goal every night for weeks. 

But now he was leaving. He got Anders off and intended to walk out. So yeah, Anders was a little confused. Maybe too eager, or maybe too desperate to get him to stay, Anders looked from his tented pants, then to his eyes and nodded.

“I can… do you want me to take care of that?”

Max drew a sharp breath and held it before looking away. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

Was he serious? “Are you serious?”

Max flicked his eyes to meet Anders’. 

“I can’t stay,” he murmured, just a flash of Irish tinging his words. 

After a moment of hesitation, he sidled closer, looming over Anders. Tipping his head back, Anders looked up at him, trying to read him, trying to figure out what Max wanted. Catching Anders’ chin in his hand, Max leaned down and kissed him softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

When he left, he closed the door behind him.

Anders flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.


	10. Chapter 10

“Anders,” Lirine called him, voice strained.

Anders cringed. That particular tone was becoming all too familiar. It meant someone, most likely no one good, was in the lobby. At this point the guilt at her distress was worse. As he headed towards the front desk, he tried to think who it could be now. 

An unusual, not entirely unpleasant heat flared in his stomach at the idea it might be Max. Standing behind her chair, he leaned to peek into the lobby. She glared up at him.

“Care to explain?” she hissed between her teeth.

Two very obviously green g-men milled around the lobby. The jackets with FBI on the back, badges and guns on their belts really gave them away. Half the lobby had cleared out of patients and those who remained eyed them nervously.

“I don’t really know.”

With a sigh, Anders left Lirine to deal with the next problem in his lobby, wishing harder than what was reasonable that it was a more familiar problem.

Biting back sarcasm, Anders tried to greet them politely. It came out flat. “Agents.”

The woman looked him up and down. Her partner hung back, looking around, somewhere near the ceiling, and much too nervous. 

“You’re Dr. Anders?” she asked, giving him a steely stare.

“That would be me, yes.”

“I’m Agent Moira and this is Agent Keran. We’d like you to come with us.”

Anders scoffed. “Excuse me, but why would I do that?”

She pursed her lips and eyed him before speaking again, this time much more threatening. “Because I’d hate to walk you out in handcuffs.”

“I don’t know. That doesn’t sound like such an awful thing.”

Behind her, Keran cringed. For the first time, he met Anders’ eyes. “Please?”

“Please?” Anders looked around the lobby, a bit incredulous. He looked at one of the regulars, Jim, and pointed at Keran. “Did you hear that?”

Jim shrugged. “I don’t know, Doc. Maybe you should go with them. I’ll make sure no one thinks you’re a narc.”

“Gee, thanks.” Anders rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand before sighing and looking back to Moira. “Okay, fine. I need to talk to me staff and grab my coat. You can, I don’t know, come with me if you’re concerned I might run.”

Without waiting for a reply, Anders turned around and headed towards the back. Both agents followed him. Anders rolled his eyes.

Catching up to him, Keran walked by his side as he asked, “could you,” he hesitated and winced before continuing, “could you not tell Hawke about this?”

Anders didn’t really have anything to say to that.

-

Keran and Moira walked Anders in, straight through the lobby towards the offices. Obviously their arrival had been expected, a man with curly blond hair waiting for them. He dismissed both of the younger agents with a nod before offering Anders his hand.

Despite his misgivings, Anders forced himself to do the polite thing and shake his hand. Might as well make nice with the people who could ruin his livelihood with one criminal charge.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Cullen Rutherford.”

“Great,” Anders answered, still somehow failing to do that respect thing.

Unruffled, Agent Rutherford nodded in reply. Holding out a hand as if to say “after you,” he directed Anders forward. Sighing, Anders trudged down the hall. 

Towards the end, Agent Rutherford stopped in front of a door. “This is my office,” he informed Anders of the obvious. Opening the door, he began his explanation. “I apologize if we inconvenienced you, but I assure you the matter is of the utmost importance--” 

Before Anders could process what was in the office, Agent Rutherford had his gun out and pointed squarely at the chest of the man sitting behind his desk.

Draped over the chair in a much too casual manner, Max raised an eyebrow. Voice low and heavy with his accent, Max said, “you gonna shoot me, Cullen?”

For a moment it felt as though time stilled, neither moving, neither breaking eye contact, tension high enough to feel like tangible pressure.

Slowly, Agent Rutherford lowered his gun. He flicked the safety back on with a click and then holstered his weapon.

“Hawke,” he greeted, the slightest edge in his otherwise neutral tone.

Max’s smile was like a slice across his face, no hint of the bashfulness Anders had become so familiar with, yet sickeningly sweet in a way that caused shivers down his spine. He glanced to Agent Rutherford to see if he felt the same, but the agent maintained his impassive expression.

Anders darted his eyes back to Max, but Max didn’t bother looking at him. Max didn’t even acknowledge him. Heart in his throat, Anders wanted to apologize, wanted to reassure Max this wasn’t his idea, claim he did nothing wrong. He hadn’t. If anything this was Max’s fault, but Anders still felt guilty.

“You know why I’m here, Cullen?” Max asked, putting emphasis on Agent Rutherford’s first name.

Rutherford narrowed his eyes, but didn’t answer. As if in defiance, he strode into his office.

“I don’t like liars,” Max said, just as calm as before.

Anders could feel it. He could feel the storm brewing, the static as tension heightened. Whatever Max wanted, Anders passionately hoped Rutherford would give it.

Uncowed, Rutherford held Max’s eyes. Anders didn’t know how he could do it. Anders didn’t know how anyone could breathe when Max looked at them like that, his eyes intense, black, like gaping holes in a soul.

“I have no authorit--”

Almost too fast to see, Max was out of his seat, slamming his fist on the desk hard enough it rattled and items fell with a crash.

Very calmly, Max said, “then maybe you should stop acting the maggot and get some.”

Idly Anders wondered if anyone ever understood what Max was saying. A muscle flexed in Rutherford’s jaw that seemed to indicate he at least got the gist of it.

Easing himself back once more, Max sat down and rested his elbows on the chair arms. He steepled his fingers.

“I feel like I’ve shown plenty of patience with your lot, cleaning up your bags, turning a blind eye to going-ons you have no business goin’ on about.”

“What do you want, Hawke?” Rutherford asked, whatever neutrality he tried to fegin overshadowed by disgust.

“Extradite Bethany.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you’re not trying hard enough,” Max snapped. “Ship her off to whatever prison her Majesty sees fit. I want her out of America, do you understand?”

Rutherford didn’t answer. Anders braced for Max’s reaction.

Much too calm, Max pushed his chair out and stood. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked around the desk and to Rutherford.

Hawke took one hand out of his pocket. Too quick for Rutherford to stop him, Max snatched him by the chin and joggled his head. Ripping himself away, Rutherford struck out, but came nowhere near hitting Max, who seemed to change positions without moving his feet.

Max laughed at the fury reddening Rutherford’s face. Sticking his hand back in his pocket, he winked.

“Cop on,” Max said cheerfully, “I expect good news by noon tomorrow, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead turning his back to Rutherford and strolling towards the door in his awkward wobbling walk.

However, he stopped when he reached Anders. Smile shy, he ducked his head and shuffled closer. Reaching around, he placed his hand on the back of Anders neck pulled him closer. Without regard for Rutherford, Max leaned in and kissed Anders’ cheek.

Anders stood frozen, eyes wide as he stared over Max’s shoulder at Rutherford watching with a blank face.

American once more, Max whispered in his ear, “hi, Anders.”

Anders couldn’t make himself reply, let alone think of one.

Apparently not needing an answer, Max squeezed the back of his neck and pulled away. Expression soft, he smiled at Anders. Again, somehow as unexpected as before, Max kissed his cheek.

“Bye, Anders.” 

Without another word, Max departed, leaving the door open behind him.

Both of them stared at the empty doorway, as if paranoid Max might decide to pop back in. After half of a minute, Rutherford broke the silence.

“I suppose that answers my first question.”

“What,” Anders croaked. He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough. “What was the first question?”

“‘Do you know Maximilian Hawke?’”

Anders couldn’t help the breathy laugh. “No, not really.”

-

Resting his head on the window, Anders watched the rain as the bus rolled its way out of the city. Really, he shouldn’t be tired. Well, Anders always felt tired, but he shouldn’t be this tired. At least tomorrow was his off day.

Anders wondered what the evening would hold. Last night Max said he’d see him tomorrow. They had seen each other, but somehow Anders didn’t think that’s what Max meant. The vibration of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He dug through his pockets to find it and then held it up to see the caller. He groaned. Reluctantly, he answered.

Isabela didn’t wait for hello. "Are you blue balling Hawke?"

"What?"

"He's on my couch drinking and masterbating to infomercials."

"What?" 

"Is that really surprising," Isabela asked flatly.

Anders supposed not. “Did he tell you that?”

“No. He’s worried you’re mad at him.”

“What?”

“Is that all you can say? Are you an idiot?”

“Why would I be mad at him?”

“I don’t know. What did he do?”

Anders hesitated to answer. What a broad question.

There was a rustling and then Max’s voice came from the background. “Is that Anders?”

“No. Go away.”

“Is he mad at me? Ask him if he’s mad at me.”

“No. Go back to killing your liver and dignity.”

“Joke’s on you. I don’t have any dignity.”

“Hawke, I swear to Christ I will call Varric.”

“Varric doesn’t love me. No one loves me,” Max slurred. “Even my dog loves Bethany more.”

Isabela made a noise of disgust. More rustling, then came a thump and a grunt from Max.

“Come pick him up before I throw him out.”

“Do you really want me to take him on public transport?”

“He drove. You can drive stick, right?”

Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to think about the last time he drove stick, Mercy cackling and Velanna nearly bleeding out in the backseat.

“Nobody loves me everybody hates me. I’m gonna eat some worms,” Max sang surprisingly in tune.

“Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

She hung up without pretending she cared if Anders agreed.

-

Anders stepped off the bus stop two blocks before Isabela’s apartment. The rain had become closer to a drizzle, not too much of a bother to walk in, but not like it was pleasant. Not like Isabela would care. Anders scowled at the cracked pavement as he walked. 

Halfway there, Anders noticed the figure sitting on the hood of a car, squeezed between a truck and a van. Hood up and hunched over, of course it was Max. Anders approached slowly, trying to gauge his mood. Mouth in a pout, he glared at the bumper of the truck in front of him.

The car he sat on was a chrysler from the 90s Anders couldn’t identify through the rust and smashed in headlight. He sighed. Max shrunk.

Looking it over, Anders tried to figure out the logistics of actually getting the car out of there. He supposed he should start with the obvious.

“Max,” he said, softly.

Childishly, Max turned his head and leaned away.

Sharper, Anders repeated, “Max.”

Max glared at him, but it lacked the heat of anger. It was closer to nervous. Anders ignored the pang in his chest.

“Come on than.”

With no room between the cars, Max slid off the hood and onto the sidewalk. Head bowed once more, he inched over to Anders. A pink post-it was stuck to the front of his hoodie. Anders plucked it off and squinted to read the blotted ink.

In Isabela’s perfect old fashioned cursive it read “Warning: Handsy when drunk.”

Anders looked back to Max, shuffling his feet and hands jammed in his pockets. He looked back to the post-it and then sighed and stuck it in his pocket.

“Where are your keys?”

“In the ignition.”

Of course they were.

“I didn’t lock it.”

“You’re not worried someone would steal it?” Anders asked, choosing to ignore what a piece of shit it was.

Max snickered. “No one would be able to get it out of that spot, but me.”

“You parked it between those cars?”

“Yeah.”

“And you can get it out?”

That smile, halfway between shy and sly curved his lips. “Yeah.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Bet me.”

Anders looked at the impossibly tight space, bumpers nearly touching on either end. Maybe it was that smirk, maybe it was the spark in his eyes where there was usually nothing, but Anders found himself agreeing.

“Yeah, okay.”

Max beamed, his entire body seeming to grow lighter. He turned from Anders and reached for the door handle.

“You’re leaving your insurance if you hit them.”

“I don’t have insurance,” Max said as he opened the door and ducked inside. Slamming the door shut, he started the car. “You comin’?”

“I think I’d rather watch from out here, thanks.”

Max shrugged. Very deliberately, he met Anders’ eyes and turned the wheel. 

“Maybe pay attention,” Anders suggested, trying to sound as unconcerned as Max seemed to be.

“You worried, Anders?”

Anders didn’t answer, too busy gaping as Max managed to back the car out by inches and pulled out into the street all while watching him.

“Are you impressed?” Max asked, much too smug and a little bit too earnest.

“No,” lied Anders.

Max laughed. Engine still running, he opened the door and stood up. “You’re driving.”

“Not sure I’d be any better,” Anders muttered. 

Still, Max was apparently drunk. If not for the way his gait changed from his awkward almost limp to a smooth saunter as he walked around the car, Anders wouldn’t have been able to see a difference.

“Varric says I’m not allowed to drive with other people in the car until I pass my permit test.” Max flopped inside and shut the door before wriggling down to slump in his seat, pulling his knees up to his chest. 

“What?” Anders asked for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Max shrugged. “America.” 

Anders sighed and shook his head. Once he was inside, door closed, and hands on the wheel, Max looked up.

“Seatbelt,” he ordered.

Anders complied without protest. 

“Anders, let’s go to McDonald’s.”

“We have food at home," Anders said without thinking if they did.

“Aaaandeeeers.”

-

Max offered Anders his flask on the way home. Anders politely declined, pointing out perhaps it would be best that he not drink while driving an uninsured car that sounded like it might explode any second. Max gave him a dirty look like Anders was ridiculing him, then proceeded to drink it by himself. Anders slapped away his hand when Max started to pick at his skin.

By the time they arrived on their street, Max had finished his flask and spent around fifteen minutes struggling to roll down the window while Anders rolled it up from the driver’s side. When they pulled up to Varric’s house, Max froze, spooked. Involuntarily, Anders tensed too, now always expecting the worst.

Max peered up the hill, towards his house, the soft lights of the courtyard twinkling in the twilight. He swiveled his head around to stare at Anders with wide eyes. “Anders, I gotta stay with you tonight.”

Anders pretended he hadn’t already assumed he would. “Why?”

“Leandra’s home,” Max said as if that was explanation enough. “I can sense her.”

Anders tried to be patient. “Who?”

“Leandra!” Max got louder, a flush rising to his cheeks. “She’s going to kill me,” he moaned.

“Who’s Leandra?” Anders tried again, feeling a bit helpless the more agitated Max became.

“My mother,” Max spat. “She’s going to fucking kill me once she hears about Fenris. Shit, shit, shit.”

“How is she going to---”

“Dog is a rat.”

“Your dog is going to tell--”

“Why does she like all my friends more than me?” he groaned, dropping his head in his hands. Then he muttered, “okay, that’s a stupid question.”

“Max, are you sure you’re not blowing this out of propor--”

“Fuck!” Max slammed his fist into the dashboard hard enough it left a dent. Great to know the airbags didn’t work.

“Quit being a brat,” Anders snapped.

Max glared at him. 

“You can stay over, but you’re not allowed to destroy anything. Fair?”

Slumping in his seat, Max crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. “I guess.”

Anders let out a breath of relief at his easy agreement. He looked up the hill once more, as if he could divine what Max apparently sensed, but he saw nothing different. Car in park, he shut off the engine and unbuckled.

“Are you coming in?”

Max sighed heavily. “I _guess_.”

-

Anders hadn’t noticed, but apparently Varric’s liquor cabinet was extremely well stocked. He assumed the parlor with the bar would be, but once they were in the kitchen, Max began pulling out already opened bottles. After a moment Anders realized this must be Max’s stash, all the labels ten dollar type cheap.

Max stood across the counter from where Anders found himself, organizing the bottles using a system Anders couldn’t fathom. When he was down, he slapped his hands down on the counter with a bang. Anders couldn’t ignore the blood blotching the cuff of his sleeve of the drop of it now smeared on the counter.

He forced himself quiet.

Max’s shoulders heaved with his deep breath. Then, for the first time, Max began talking about himself without prompting.

“Da died before Carver’s balls even dropped,” Max began, his false accent gone, words thick with Irish. 

He uncapped a bottle with a ripped off label and poured into one of Varric’s gold rimmed glasses. Instead of drinking it, he slid it to Anders. For fear of Max closing himself off again, Anders accepted it. He took a sip and tried not to wince. Max drank straight from the bottle before continuing.

“Carver died before I even got us on the boat.” He laughed softly, staring down at the same smear of blood Anders tried to ignore. “Christ, I really cocked that up.”

Finally, he glanced up to Anders. “Ya know, the first time I killed was for the twins. I'm good at that, killin’. Not much of a brother, but I can kill.”

Anders held his eyes. It wasn’t as hard as he might have imagined not so long ago. Max looked at him almost sheepish, almost like an apology. When Max took a drink, Anders did too.

“Mum never forgave me for that.” He clucked his tongue and turned the bottle in his hands. “When they came for Bethany, that was my fault too. God, you should have heard Leandra screaming, carrying on. You woulda thought she was being murdered.” He pointed at Anders with the hand holding the bottle. “Shit like that how’s folk knew she was American.”

This time when he laughed, it was almost humorous even if bitter. Another drink, he eyed Anders over the bottle.

“Varric told me about you, ya know. Didn’t want me freakin’ out about a fucking warden in his house.”

Ah. Anders quirked a half smile. “Yeah, can’t imagine you’d like them all too much.”

Max smiled softly in return before ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “S’not so bad. Some bitch came through our village and recruited the nun Bethany liked from the chapel. They were alright.”

Anders didn’t know if it was serendipity or irony.

“Didn’t have much of a problem with your lot ‘til I was gun running. Then I couldn’t drain da snake without wetting one of you. International authorities my arse.”

“Is that why you left?”

Max shrugged and set the bottle aside. “Mum says Carver wanted to be like me. Dumbfuck walking into the IRA with my name on his resume. IRA as a client is different than joining up.”

Anders weighed the risk. “What about Bethany?”

Max flinched at her name despite saying it himself a minute before. Looking back to the counter, he started picking at the skin under his sleeve again. Anders didn’t comment.

“She’s a good girl. Feds took her because she got the same name as her brother. ‘Nough people know that name to hold her. Wasn’t a big enough name here to stop ‘em.”

“And now?”

Max glanced up to meet his eyes. “I can sink this fucking city.”

“Would you?”

“For her?” He smiled the same soft smile as before. “Yeah.” Then he shrugged. “Fuck, I’d do it for Varric. I’d do it for you.”

Anders’ heart constricted in his chest.

“Don’t give me that look, agra,” Max murmured, “you have to know.” 

When Anders didn’t answer immediately, Max looked away and shrugged again before drinking. 

“Max,”

“Shut up, Anders,” he muttered, accent nearly swinging back to American.

“Why do you do,” Anders gestured vaguely, “all of this? Act like you’re a psychopath, switch between accents, live like you do.”

Max stared at him blankly. “What.”

“You can’t,” Anders paused and frowned. Slowly, he started again, “You have issues, yeah, but you’re not psychotic no matter how you try to play it.”

Max wasn't psychotic, a hedonist with a god complex maybe, but not psychotic.

Ducking his head, Max blushed. “Give me that much attention and I’m liable to think you like me.”

Still, still too much the coward, Anders didn’t enlighten him as to how very much Anders liked him. “Why are you only reasonable when you’re drunk?”

“Only get like that past thirteen drinks, yeah? Don’t tell Isabela. Godforbid she develop expectations of me.” 

“She says you’re handsy when you’re drunk.” Only after saying it did Anders realized how much it sounded like a challenge. Only after saying it did Anders realize he meant it as a challenge.

And Max’s eyes burned. They drew Anders in as much as pinned him in place.

“Don’t fuck with me, Anders,” Max said, voice on edge, barely above a whisper.

“If I recall, you’re the one that walked out.”

Max tipped the bottle back and drained the last of it before dropping it to the counter with a clatter. He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. 

Then, as quiet as before, he said, “finish your drink.”

He didn’t wait to see if Anders listened before walking. He didn’t look back as he left the room.

Anders let out a slow breath and then finished his drink. Leaving his glass on the island with all the bottles, Anders followed Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates gonna be slower. Life.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another e rated chapter. Not too long. Plot will pick up a bit after this

The soft glow of the table lamp shown into the hall from his room. Something warm and curiously sad settled in Anders’ chest. Sad for Max, maybe selfishly sad for himself, but more than that, Anders was certain. Anders was in love with Max. It might not be okay, might not be right, not with Max being who he was, but Anders was in love with him despite it.

He walked the last few steps to his room and then through the doorway. Max waited for him, perched on the bed, head at a curious tilt and face blank as if doubtful of Anders’ intentions. Anders offered him a small smile. Instantly, Max looked away, the telltale blush visible on his pale skin even in the dark.

Anders closed the door and then paused, laying his hand flat against it. He toed off his shoes and kicked them to the side, another empty effort to give him time he didn’t need. One more time Anders went through it in his head, but he hadn’t really needed to. He hadn’t needed Varric to tell him how much Max loved him. 

So quiet the moment, Anders could hear the click of the doorknob latching, yet he hadn’t heard Max’s approach. Instead he felt it. Before even touching him, Anders felt the warmth of Max. He slid his arms under Anders’, hugged him around the middle, pulling him close so their bodies aligned. Max said something, too quiet for Anders to hear, as he rested his forehead against the back of his neck.

The weight and warmth of Max against him had become familiar, a comfort, but now Anders’ heart raced. Max nuzzled his neck, hugged him a little tighter. Anders placed his hands over Max’s, holding him too. Despite his reputation, despite what Anders knew him to be, Max always held him gently. 

As if he knew Anders’ thoughts, as if Max was the patient one, he made no further move, standing there until their breathing fell in sync and Anders’ heart slowed down.

Next Max spoke, Anders could catch the words, even if he couldn’t understand them, the language unfamiliar in cadence and phonics.

"Tá grá agam duit, agra," Max murmured.

But Anders understood the meaning. He knew by his tone, by the quiet way he said it, that Max was telling Anders he loved him in a way Anders couldn’t outright reject. It killed him knowing Max still believed Anders would, but why wouldn’t he? At this point, how could Anders say anything that wouldn’t sound contrived in the face of Max’s earnesty?

The words were stuck in his throat.

Max slipped his hand out from under Anders’ to swipe his loose bun aside. He kissed the side of Ander’s neck and then again, a line of gentle touches down his throat. When he reached the spot just above his collar, Max nipped him hard enough to hurt. Reflexively, Ander elbowed him, but Max just laughed.

Easing away, Max nudged Anders to turn around only to be on him the moment he did. He didn’t rush, but Max put himself firmly in control, backing Anders against the door. He caught Anders’ hand around his wrist and lined himself up, hip to hip, chest to chest, to press his body against Anders. He didn’t hesitate to capture Anders’ lips with his own.

It had barely been a day, but kissing Max then was almost a relief. Anxiety Anders hadn't known was there dissipated now that he had Max touching him again, kissing him. He kissed like he did everything else, intense, and contradictorily both honest and evasive.

Max slipped his hand under Anders’ shirt, ran up and down his spine until it came to rest just over his ass, thumb rubbing circles against the small of his back. Just the touch, the motion and placement was enough to heighten the tension, make Anders feel that much more aroused. 

Breathless, Anders broke the kiss only for Max to surge up. He let go of Anders’ wrist to cup his jaw, keep him close so Max could keep kissing him, hot and aggressive. Or maybe desperate, as if his only chance, as if it was the last thing in the world he would do.

Anders hadn’t realized he moaned until it was already out of him and Max’s breath caught at the sound. He broke away, pulling back, but he gripped Anders by the front of his shirt to drag him along. Although Anders would have gone willingly should Max had the inclination to speak, instead Max manhandled Anders around and practically slung him onto the bed.

The only word out of his mouth sounded like “fuck” right before he pounced on Anders. Really it shouldn’t have been such a turn on.

Already pulling at his clothes, Anders grabbed Max’s hands to stop him. Instantly, Max stilled. Even his breathing seemed to stop, an eerie echo of last night.

Even now he thought Anders would take this away from him.

“You too,” Anders clarfied, pretending like he didn’t notice the very obvious fear on Max’s face.

From fear to a frown, Max’s expression became one of displeasure, to annoyance, and then suspicion. Where any of that came from Anders really couldn’t fathom.

“I’ve already seen you naked,” he pointed out, but Max only frowned more furiously.

He easily twisted his hands out of Anders grasp and attempted to remove Anders shirt a second time, shoving up to his ribs, only for Anders to grab him again.

“Anders,” Max not quite growled.

“Max,” Anders returned icily. “Either you take off your clothes, or I will, but I would very much like to see you naked again in a less,” Anders paused to consider his words before finishing delicately, “constrained situation.”

Max snorted, but sat up to rest on his heels. “You mean where you don’t hate me as much?”

Impossibly, Max’s expressions seemed slightly different when he spoke with an accent, or rather without an American one. What Anders would have called a cheeky smile before now looked more like a sneer.

“I don’t hate you,” Anders said, a bit louder than necessary and a bit sharper than he meant.

Max rolled his eyes, but complied, tugging his shirt off and flinging it aside. For a moment, Anders forgot what they were saying, too focused on the beautiful expanse of Max’s torso, lean, but cut so finely. The scars, some self made, almost all poorly healed made him all the more real, that much sharper in reality. The road burn was healing poorly, and Max had picked another red spot, but the slice under his arm seemed to be healing fine.

“Sure, agra,” he said as he lowered himself down once more.

Anders shoved him back so he could sit upright. “I don’t hate you,” Anders repeated, this time quiet, but just as firm, “I don’t hate you. I--”

He almost said it. Maybe he would have if Max’s eyes weren’t narrowed and the tick wasn’t in his jaw. Instead Anders sighed. Max tensed more, his irritation now tangible.

Sliding his hand from where he splayed it over Max’s chest to the back of his neck, Anders tugged him forward, into another kiss, one Anders escalated, exploring Max’s mouth, trying to draw out the same things Max made him feel.

By the time they broke apart any momentum lost returned in full force, both panting and Anders’ erection throbbing. Max might have muttered “fuck” again.

This time Max pinned Anders hands to the bed and looked him dead in the eye with burning, almost hateful intensity.

Softly, but stone cold, Max said, “I’m going to undress you and then I’m going to fuck you. If you have a problem with this say it now.”

Anders scowled. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Fuck you, Anders,” Max hissed, but he released his hands.

Immediately, he undid Anders’ pants and dipped his hand inside, cupping his cock. Anders arched up, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth and releasing it in a moan as Max fondled him.

“I was wondering if you’d let me do this again. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could convince you.”

“You didn’t nee-”

Anders cut himself off when Max squeezed just the slightest bit. His other hand tugged down Anders’ boxers to expose his where his hip met his thigh, stroke his thumb over the furrow there.

“I wanted to jump you in Cullen’s office. Woulda if you wouldn’ta hit me.”

Anders let out a shaky laugh. “No you wouldn’t have.”

Max flicked his eyes up to meet Anders, striking like a physical force. “Bet me.”

Anders laughed again, even more strangled than before. Hand still on his cock, Max leaned forward and bowed his head, catching Ander’s nipple with his mouth and sucking. Anders arched again and let out a cry. He tangled his hands in Max’s hair, probably pulled too hard, but Max let out a hum of approval that Anders could feel. The draw of heat through him came so easily, too fast.

He let go only to tug Anders pants the rest of the way off and then shuck his own. Then he slid his hands over Anders’ inner thighs, pushed them open to fit himself between. By the time he was over Anders again, the brush of bare skin like sparks, Anders felt like he was on fire, like he couldn’t wait. He struggled with his own shirt, only for Max to pin Anders down with one hand to stop his squirming.

Anders stilled to look at him, eyes too wide, a little too desperate. He could barely see Max’s in the dim light. A slight tremor went through Max, one that caused his face to change to the much too familiar expression of pained longing.

“Is breá liom tú níos mó ná mar ba chóir dom,” he said, nearly inaudible.

“What?” Anders heard himself ask.

“Lube.” Max held up a wrinkled condom wrapper, like that was an actual translation instead of a distraction.

“Ah.” Seemed like such a stupid thing. 

He reached overhead, hand fumbling with the small set of draws of his headboard. As if Anders weighed nothing, Max lifted his hips, shoved a pillow under him all while Anders struggled. Done with his task and impatient, he knocked Anders’ hand away. Max moved much faster, locating it in seconds. Uncapped in seconds. Fingers slicked and pushing into Anders in seconds.

“Jesus,” Anders hissed.

“Breathe, Anders,” Max murmured. He leaned down to kiss Anders neck.

“I can’t breathe. You’re here.”

“Why, agra, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he laughed against Anders throat. Kissed him again and again, so tender and sweet when his hand did incredibly filthy things. “It’s okay, rúnsearc. I’ll take care of you.”

Max circled him inside and then pressed his fingers forward. And fuck, Anders came with a cry that ripped through him. Max only pressed down harder.

“Didn’t even touch you,” Max said, even as his other hand wrapped around Anders’ dick.

More the sensation had him crying out again, but Max still stroked him until Anders trembled. When he could finally open his eyes, he hadn’t even realized he closed, he looked up at Max to see pure manic joy. Breathing already shallow, Anders breath stuttered. He groaned. Maybe whimpered. Groaned.

He really didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed. It had been years before all this. He was in love. It made Max happy. What the fuck did he care.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Anders asked, a half laugh tailing the end of it.

“I’m going to get you hard again, and then, yeah. I’m gonna fuck you.”

“Are you still drunk?”

“Any more mangled and I’d be cumming jamo in your ass.”

“ _What._ ”

-

God bless him, Varric answered.

"This better be good, Blondie."

"Help me," Anders hissed between his teeth, forcing himself to be quiet despite the irrational panic clawing up his throat. 

3:45 AM found Anders in the dark, sitting in his bathtub, showercurtain drawn, and reeling. Somehow he didn’t think it would go over well if Max overheard.

"Don't try to out run him. He's like a dog. Chases things. Thinks it's a game. Just play dead."

"What?"

"I assume Hawke is trying to kill you otherwise why _the fuck_ are you calling me at four in the fucking morning."

"I'm in love with Max."

A beat of silence passed. "I'm hanging up now."

"No! Varric, wait!"

"Blondie, I like you, I really do, but if you insist on calling me before dawn to tell me shit we already established I'm just not going to pick up anymore."

"What about Max?"

"What about him?"

Anders swallowed down the knot in his throat, but his words still came out small. "What if I fuck up?"

Varric sighed tiredly. "It happens. People fuck up. That's how relationships work. Hell, that's how people work."

Anders let out a long breath. Varric, of course, was right. Shit happened. Anders had a chance, one he hadn't known he wanted let alone how badly he could want it. Max was there now. He was Anders' at least until Max grew bored with him.

"Only difference is if you fuck up the entire city of Kirkwall is going to have to deal with the consequences. So you know, try not to fuck up too badly."

-

With his phone in hand and a renewed sense of purpose, Anders stepped out of the bathroom. His stomach dropped out when he saw the bed empty. Instantly his mind provided a thousand reasons why Max might have left without a word, all of them bad, and all of them Anders’ fault. Not the healthiest or most logical reaction, no, but Anders was too busy panicking to take anymore time to think it through.

Why wouldn’t someone with senses as keen as Max’s notice Anders had gotten up? Why wouldn’t someone with his lack of boundaries not listen? Why wouldn’t someone with his paranoia assume the worst? Not even two minutes ago Varric was telling Anders not to fuck up and there Anders had been, actively fucking up. Oh god--

Anders nearly smacked into the wall jumping back when Max touched him. Max smirked a bit before ducking his head and running his hand through his hair. He sidled closer to Anders from the dark of the room, catching his wrist and tugging him in. Back in his street clothes, he smelled like the rain and liquor from last night. Snuggling into his self-designated spot against Anders’, he tucked his face in the crook of his neck and nuzzled him.

“Are you going somewhere?” Anders asked, nothing close to casual, the irrational worry yet to reside.

“Did you think I left, agra?” Max crooned, much too cocky, not much of an answer at all. He cupped his Anders’ neck with his hand as he kissed his throat. Soft and smug, he asked, “were you worried?”

Anders scowled, not that Max was looking. He wanted to hit him or at least shove him away, but somehow he ended up pulling him closer, resting his head against Max’s. Thoughtlessly, he sighed. Max laughed. He kissed Anders’ neck once more before pulling away.

“Cullen’s gonna be in his office in couple a hours. ‘Bout cut to the onions with the oinseach.”

Anders ignored the fact he had no clue what the second sentence meant and focused on the first part. “I thought you said noon?”

“Gotta see how she’s cuttin’ before I walk into that holy show,” Max said nonsense in explanation. Dipping his head, he kissed Anders' neck again and then his jaw. “I’ll be back tonight,” he murmured, “don’t worry so much, agra.”

This time when Max pulled away it was out of reach. With one last shy smile, he flipped up his hood and headed towards the door. Before he left, however, he hesitated. 

Glancing back to Anders, black eyes unreadable, he said, “I love you.”

“I…” Anders began.

This time when Max smiled, it was sly. He didn’t wait for Anders to finish before walking out and shutting the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, stilted, and all over the place. don't tell me you expected quality. come on now
> 
> bit late. really late. I've actually had this done for a bit but it sucked so hard I wanted to rewrite it entirely, maybe change it entirely. then I remembered I am lazy garbage so here we are
> 
> enjoy *throws up peace sign*

The ringing of his noon alarm pulled Anders from his work. He silenced his phone, the same Max bought him, before remembering why he set a twelve o’clock alarm to begin with. Then he cursed himself for setting it at all. Did he really need the reminder of what Max was getting up to? Although he still wasn’t sure what Max would do if Agent Rutherford didn’t produce results, he doubted it would be anything pleasant. 

Anders assured himself Max wouldn’t do anything too outrageous, but he hardly finished the thought before groaning. Yes, Max would do something ridiculous if he thought he it would get him what he wanted. In Anders experience so far, Max usually ended up with what he wanted. 

He ended up with Anders anyway.

Despite knowing it futile, Anders attempted to get back to work on his medical transcriptions before giving up when his stomach growled. Grimacing, he finished up his sentence and then he logged off. Although Anders was ninety percent sure there wasn’t anything actually edible in the fridge, he figured he should at least make an effort to check.

Before making it down the stairs, Anders caught the sound of dog nails tip-tapping on wood floor and Merrill cooing in response to the dog’s happy yips. Some of the tension in his chest eased.

Inside the kitchen he found a homey scene. Dog danced around Merrill as she put groceries away. On the stove the kettle heated and on the island sat two mugs, one already out for Anders, with a plate of biscuits.

At the sight of him, Merrill brightened up and clapped her hands together. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaimed, every inch of her genuine, “I was about to send Dog up to get you.”

Anders gave a hesitant smile in return, still unsure as to why Merrill was always so pleased to see him. She beamed in return. The mabari barked before wiggling his way over to Anders and shove his head under his hands. Automatically, Anders pet him.

“What, uh, brings you here?” Anders asked, trying to be polite as he could about someone else in his house. Varric’s house, he supposed, with a routine established long before he arrived.

“I went grocery shopping for Hawke,” she explained, “if there isn’t food he likes in the fridge it doesn’t occur to him to eat.”

Anders winced. Despite claiming they had food last night, he knew for all intents and purposes the fridge had been empty for the last week.

“How has he survived this long,” Anders said, nearly marvelled.

“Orana’s cooking,” Merrill answered absentmindedly as she turned the heat down on the whistling kettle. “She’s very good at putting food in places Hawke might notice. Very strategic.”

“Who’s Orana?”

“Hawke’s housekeeper.” Merrill poured the water in Anders cup first, then her own. “And cook. She’s very good at very many things. I think she could be very bad at everything and Hawke wouldn’t care. He tried to give her all his money when he rescued her.”

“That’s,” a lot to take in, “nice of him.”

“Hawke tries to give everyone his money.”

Before Anders could formulate a response to that, they were interrupted by a bang and yelling. Heart skipping a beat, Anders jerked his head around and stood, but Dog was already flying out the doorway in a full blown sprint that would have toppled a man.

Behind him Merrill let out a pleased little sound. “Oh! Hawke’s home early.”

At her happy tone, Anders paused to reevaluate his panic. Yes, Max yelled, but not that heart wrenching scream. He spoke in French, an annoyed tone, and someone answered as rapid fire as Max spoke.

Forcing himself at a normal pace, Anders followed Dog. Behind him, Merrill refilled the kettle for more tea and chattered about company. Once closer, he heard the whimpers of a third person.

That didn’t bode well.

“Dog!” Max exclaimed.

Anders entered the room soon enough to watch the gigantic mabari leap into Max’s arms. Max caught him as if he was fifty pounds instead of a hundred and fifty. The Frenchman beside him jerked back, and let out a stream of curses Anders understood well enough to know he was creative.

Max laughed in delight as the beast licked the side of his head.

“Lovely,” the Frenchman muttered. “Do you mind?”

Max shot back in Italian instead of French. Shifting Dog to one side, Max balanced him on his hip like a child to have a hand free to make a rude gesture. The Frenchman rolled his eyes. During their exchange, Anders focused on the third person, a man, beat to hell and blubbering, lie on the floor, wrists duck taped together, as were his ankles.

Anders sucked in a sharp breath. Though one eye was swollen shut, the man met his gaze with the other and let out a whimper sounding like “please.” At precisely that moment, Max seemed to notice him.

“Anders,” he crooned, dropping Dog.

Unputoff, the mabari let out a series of happy yips and danced around the Frenchman, front paws leaving the ground, but never touching him. 

“Control your beast, Hawke,” he demanded, trying to appear unruffled but eyeing Dog warily as he backed away.

Max ignored him to sidle up to Anders. Ducking his head, Max hid his face against Anders’ throat. He clasped him by the back of the neck, thumb stroking up and down. Despite himself, Anders shivered at his touch, heart skipping in anticipation. Max kissed his throat softly and Anders let out an exasperated sigh. Instead of tensing like he might have in the past, Max chuckled and kissed him again before pulling away.

“Are you quite finished?” his companion called.

Max ignored him again, looking Anders up and down instead. His tongue darted out to dab his lip. Like he hadn’t seen Anders eight hours before, he murmured, “you look good.”

“Max,”

Max returned to leaning into him, nuzzling his jaw and his other hand grasping him by the hip to pull him close. “Yeah?”

“Not to pry, but,” he gestured vaguely despite Max not looking, “why?”

Pulling away again, brow furrowed, Max looked at Anders and then over his shoulder like he forgot the guy was there. When he looked back to Anders, he wore that should-have-been-shy now sly smile. 

“Don’t worry about it, agra.”

“Of course, why would I worry.”

If Max recognized the sarcasm, he ignored it, beaming at Anders instead. Although he turned from him back to the Frenchman, Max still kept a firm hand on Anders’ hip. He said something in French, flowing and natural, too quick for Anders to pick out any words he might know. The man rolled his eyes, but smiled in a way that might have been genuine if the guy himself wasn’t so smarmy.

“Si tu le dis. You are, I daresay, much more experienced in such matters.”

Max flashed him a smile, halfway between charming and unnerving. He made a shooing motion with his hand.

The Frenchman sighed deeply, but seemed to accept his dismissal “Do try to contain your temper, Hawke. We do need him alive at least until I get back.”

Max touched his chest in mock offense. “Have you ever known me to lose my temper?”

Before departing, the Frenchman gave Hawke the same flat look Anders did. Impervious or oblivious, Max moved his attention away from them to the, well, captive on the floor, who had clasped his hands together in what might have been prayer. The Frenchman walked by without sparing a glance.

Eyes squeezed shut, the man didn’t look to Max looming over him, although he flinched when Max snapped. Dog trotted over, ears up and butt wiggling, excited for his master’s summons. Wordlessly, Max pointed at the man and then jerked his head towards the back of the room, under the stairwell, to the doorway leading to the corridors of the servants’ quarters.

Without further direction, Dog lowered his head, teeth closed around the back of the man’s shirt, and started dragging the man where Max had directed.

“Please, no!” the man burst, “my family! Please, Hawke, think of my family!” His accent sounded almost exactly like Max’s.

Anders’ eyes shot to Max, who only laughed.

“Trust me, Sabin, you don’t want me thinking of your family.”

“Oh god,” Sabin whimpered, “Christ have mercy.” The further Dog dragged him, the louder he got. “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.” Eventually his cries, his prayers, were mere echoes.

Unbothered, Max was in Anders’ space once more, hands running over him tugging at his clothes caressing him, little touches, but so deliberate like he already knew what turned Anders on. Well, apparently he did, because that familiar heat rose in Anders, arousal curling in his stomach drawn out so easily by Max.

“Max,”

“I told you not to worry,” Max said as friendly and warm as ever, but Anders heard the warning there, felt the chill in his bones.

“Was that Hubert?” 

Merrill popped up suddenly enough Anders jerked back. Effortlessly, Max moved with him, leaning his weight heavy against Anders. Determined to have the last--whatever--Max nipped at his throat and then kissed his cheek before dragging himself away to face Merrill. 

Much like he did with Dog, Max held his arms open for her. Unhesitatingly, Merrill flung herself into him with the same enthusiasm as Dog. Lifting her up, Max swung her around with a familiarity like siblings. 

"Grá beag," Max cooed, kissing the top of her head.

“Oh, Hawke, you’re much too sweet,” she said this as if a worry, smoothing her hands over his chest, the wrinkles in his clothes.

Max only laughed.

Shaking her head, Merrill patted his cheek. “Remember what Varric said about the basement. I’ll have tea when you’re done.”

Still reluctant to part, Max leaned into her touch. Anders was definitely not jealous. That would be absolutely ridiculous. Anders was much more concerned about the mabari dragging a man to a basement.

“Cén fáth nach labhraíonn tú liom sa Ghaeilge?” Max’s voice turned up at the end in a question, his face a pout.

“Anders is here. It would be rude,” she tutted. Extracting herself she shooed him. “Go on.”

“Merrill,” he whined, taking a half step in her direction and reaching out.

Much quicker than Anders would have expected, she darted out of reach. “Don’t you look at me like that,” she scolded, but she smiled. “Tea when you’re done, Hawke.”

He scoffed, looking away and jamming his hands in his pockets as she left the room.

“So,”

Max’s eyes shot to Anders, cutting and intense enough Anders drew a sharp breath.

“I’ll just… go upstairs?” Anders hazarded a guess as to what Max wanted. 

No, he wasn’t exactly pleased with whatever was happening, and yes, as futile and unrealistic as it was, his brain kept trying to construct a plan to help the poor man. Again, he reminded himself his hands weren’t exactly clean, and he knew enough about Max going into this to expect as much. He wasn’t sure what he would do yet. Wasn’t sure how much good would come out of standing in front of Max and demanding answers. But then Max’s shoulders slump. He hung his head and sighed.

Dragging his hand through his hair, he tugged. A flash of frustration crossed his sharp features before he met Anders’ eyes again, this time face blank in that way that sent anxiety skittering through Anders.

“I’m not doing it ‘cause it’s fun,” Max said, “he got my people killed and cost me a lot of money.”

Anders hesitated for a moment, not sure if this was a statement or discussion. Of course, his mouth got the better of him. “So this is what? Punishment?”

Max snorted. “Nothing so personal. Interrogation. Then,” Max shrugged, “dunno yet.”

“You could let him go,” Anders suggested. 

Max stared at him.

This time Anders looked away and shrugged.

“You want me to let him go?”

“It’s not--”

“Anders, do you want me to let him go when I’m done?”

“I--”

“It’s a yes or no question,” Max snapped, voice cutting.

“Yes,” Anders snapped back.

Max nodded once. Then, this time nothing tentative or awkward, Max was in his space, backing him against the wall. No teasing touches, no soft press of lips, Max shoved Anders against the wall, pinned him there, one hand tight on his jaw and the other gripping his bicep hard enough it hurt. Max kissed him.

It wasn’t angry, not aggressive or harsh, but he did it with a mechanical efficiency, thorough and dominating. By the time he broke the kiss, Anders was panting and weak-kneed, clinging to Max’s clothes, only held up by the hard planes of Max’s body pressed against his.

Barely more than a whisper, but so concretely true, Max said, “I would do anything for you."

And Anders absolutely believed him. Somehow, out of all the things Anders had come to learn about Max, that terrified him most.

-

After Max vanished to the basement, Hubert returned with a woman in tow, he didn’t introduce, but her very presence screamed ruthless. As she passed, she sneered at Anders typing on his laptop in the drawing room and Merrill sipping her tea. Neither of them commented.

Less than twenty minutes later, Hubert and the woman left they way they came. Merrill had told Max to come have tea when he was “done,” but when Max came up the stairs moments later, he didn’t meet Anders’ eyes, didn’t look at Merrill. He just flipped his hood up and did his awkward half limp by them as he left the house, Dog trotting behind him.

Merrill sighed and set down her teacup. “I suppose I should call Varric--”

A thump snapped both their attention down the hall. After a moment of hesitation, Merrill rose to her feet. Unwilling to leave trouble to Merrill, Anders set his work aside to follow. Once they passed the doorway into the hall, there was Sabin, hobbling his way towards them, clutching his abdomen, using the wall as support.

Although covered in a smattering of blood and breathing labored, he didn’t look much worse than when Dog first dragged him down. He stared at them with his good eye before sliding down the wall and onto the floor.

Voice raw, he croaked, “Hawke said to come up for tea?” 

“Wonderful!” Merrill, clapped her hands together, delighted.

A laugh escaped Anders. “Yeah,” he said, barely a whisper, “wonderful.”

-

Anders woke to the smell of blackpowder and bleach. Of course Max wouldn’t undress without Anders prompting. He curled himself around Anders, his body heat like a furnace. Without asking, he kissed Anders’ neck. Anders smiled to himself, laying his hand over where Max held him and lacing their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Anders said softly.

Max let out something like a groan and buried his face against Anders’ neck. Although muffled, Anders heard the words “I love you.” After a few moments of quiet, Anders’ heart feeling stupidly full, Max shifted, pushing himself up and away. When he didn’t touch him again, Anders frowned, rolling over and sitting up too.

Max tore his hand through his hair and glared at nothing, jaw clenched.

“What’s wrong?” Anders winced the moment the question left his mouth. Not that he didn’t wonder, not that he didn’t want to help, but he was still trying to find which lines he was allowed to cross.

Although surly, he gave no indication Anders question bothered him. He cuffed. “Can’t stay.”

Ah. Anders really, really didn’t want to sound like he was nagging or needy. He didn’t want to ask why Max even bothered coming if it was going to be for so few minutes. Already too good at reading him, Max saved him the embarrassment.

“This morning I said I’d be back tonight,” Max murmured, “of course I’d come back, agra.”

Shit. Seeing such a soft expression on Max’s sharp features twisted his heart in wonky and warm ways. 

Sighing heavily, Max looked away, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Wasted the day on the feckin’ Bone Pit. Such a hassle.”

“The Bone Pit.”

Max chewed on his lip before glancing to Anders. “Rhodium mine. Gov’ census registered as nickel, ownership junior, but,” Max laughed, “not quite.”

“You own a mine?”

“I own lots of things, Anders.”

“No kidding.”

“Gersha before I go?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Pushing him down, Max rolled over top of him. “Let me show you.”


	13. Chapter 13

A prickle ran across the back of Anders’ neck. Since meeting Max the chilling sensation had become familiar. Even after he stopped waiting for Max to shank him every other moment, the feel of Max’s eyes on him could have been a physical touch, and not a comforting one.

Instinctively, Anders raised his head to look through the crowd of moving people. There on the corner stood Max, hood up, face pale and solemn, eyes anchored on Anders. When their gaze met, Max straightened up and his eyes widened. A blush rose to his cheeks. Ducking his head, he made his way towards Anders. Even bashful and head down, people walked around him rather than bump into him, as if subconsciously aware of who he was.

What he was.

Anders waited as he approached, a small smile growing on his face the closer Max came. Without meeting Anders’ eyes, Max leaned in, catching him by the back of the neck and pulling him closer. Anders went easily, he always did for Max. 

Nuzzling his cheek, Max spoke softly, “hi, Anders.”

“Hi, Max.”

Still close, inching closer until their chests brushed, Max squeezed Anders’ neck. “Where are you going?”

“Back to work.”

Pulling away, Max met Anders’ eyes. He chewed his bottom lip, smile not hidden at all as he looked Anders over.

“Come with me.”

No, Anders had to go back to work. They were fully booked for appointments. He shouldn’t have taken a full half hour break to begin with, but there he was. And there was Max. Anders shook his head.

Somehow the words “where are you going?” came out of his mouth instead.

God, that smirk, like he knew exactly the thoughts that went through Anders’ head before the contradictory words.

“Wherever you want.”

“Max.”

“Anders.”

“I’m going back to work.”

Leaning his weight against him, Max whined wordlessly and hid his face against Anders’ throat. “That’s not fun.”

Anders laughed. He caught Max on the shoulder and kissed the side of his head before remembering how often Dog licked the hood until it was drenched. He winced, but managed to suppress a disgusted sound.

“Doesn’t matter if it’s fun. I still have to go.”

“Andeeeers,” Max continued to whine.

“Where were you going before you saw me?”

Finally pulling himself away, Max scowled. “Don’t worry about it. Since you're not coming."

"Oh, so if I said I wanted to come instead of going to work then I could worry about it?"

Max narrowed his eyes in suspicion, a look that used to cause Anders heart to stutter with apprehension, fear, but right then, Max sulking and clinging to the front of his shirt, Anders could smile.

"You could worry, but you're not coming."

"Okay. I'll just go to work and worry." 

Without making a real effort to dislodge his grip, Anders started walking. Max caught him by the chest and pushed him back. He glared at the sidewalk between them, grumbling under his breath. Anders patiently waited until Max tipped his head back and let out a long sigh.

"Go to the clinic."

" Gee, thanks for your permission to do exactly what I was going to do."

Twisting his fingers in Anders' shirt, Max shoved him gently.

"I'm going to buy you food."

"Oh, are you?"

"Yeah."

"And what makes you think I want anything?"

Head cocked, Max smirked. "I know exactly what you want."

Ignoring the way his stomach flipped, Anders rolled his eyes. "Do you."

"Yeah. Now tell me what Lirine and Carlie like."

Because of course that's what he'd say. Because of course Max would know what he wanted. Because Anders wanted to believe Max was human. Anders wanted to think petty things like remembering his coworkers' names and finding a home for a stray cat meant Max could be a person.

Max brushed his lips against Anders, the lightest touch and spoke softly.

"Don't worry so much, agra."

-

"I'm telling you, he's the same guy that was in the lobby," Lirine said with inarguable authority. "Ask Anders."

"Ask me what?" Anders returned at either a good time or terrible time. He guessed terrible.

"The weirdo in the lobby, remember? The guy you weren't happy to see who then showed up with that other weirdo?" Carlie straightened up suddenly and pointed at him. “Ah ha! Max and Fenris!”

Oh no. "...what about him?"

"Was that Max Hawke?"

Shit. Everyone really did know his name. How Anders missed it he still couldn’t fathom. "Yeah," Anders admitted, "that was Hawke."

"That was _the_ Max Hawke?" Carlie nearly shrieked. "You didn't tell us you know _Maximilian Hawke._ "

"What about him?" Anders knew he sounded defensive. "What's it matter?"

More excited than Anders had ever seen her, Carlie snatched the tablet from Lirine and shot over to Anders. Holding it between them, she pressed the replay button of the video.

A news anchor with perfectly still hair and impeccable make up began speaking.

" _Lowtown resident Lia Obison, age eleven, was abducted yesterday afternoon by a man identified as the convict who escaped while on prison transport last month, Kelder Vanard. Fortunately, the terrifying ordeal has already been resolved, the girl returned to her father unharmed, thanks to local hero Maximilian Hawke._ "

The screen displayed a press photograph of Max looking like an actual person in a tailored suit standing beside Varric at what appeared to be a charity gala. Anders gaped, struggling to process the new information.

"Oh my God, he's so hot. How did I not notice that was him?"

" _War veteran and philanthropist Max Hawke had become a major political figure in recent years as liaison between city officials and the Qunari occupation, serving as a peacekeeper in tense times._ "

Anders tried to calculate the time between seeing Max finishing with Sabin and then returning that night. 

" _Although Hawke rescued the girl unharmed, her captor was not so lucky. Autopsy shows his cause of death to be blood loss from a severed carotid artery While most would not mourn the death of a serial child murderer, KNN recently discovered the Kelber Vanard to be of the same Vanards as a local magistrate._

_"The Magistrate's office declined to comment. Notoriously private, KNN was unable to reach Mr. Hawke's representatives._

_"Despite many hailing Hawke a hero, Police Captain Aveline Vallen assures the public the matter will be investigated without bias. The District Attorney's office will not be pressing charges at this time."_

_"This is Caitlin Hardison with Kirkwall News Network._ ”

If not for Carlie interrupting, Anders might have spent the next hour staring at the screen blankly.

“Anders,” she said, very seriously, “introduce us.”

“What!” he sputtered, “no! He’s a crazy person! Besides, I already did.”

Carlie scoffed. “How crazy can he be?”

Anders just gaped at her. A series of memories from the past few months flashed through his head of just how much crazy was packed into one person. “Just. Trust me on this.”

“That’s not answer, Anders,” Carlie insisted, poking him vehemently. 

“Crazy enough you freaked out about him sitting in the lobby,” Anders snapped.

“You freaked out too!”

“How is that helping your argument!”

Lirine, bless her heart, interrupted. “Carlie, have you finished intake?”

Carlie scowled at her, both well aware of the answer to the question, before looking back to Anders with narrowed eyes. “You just don’t want me to find love. Every time I find someone you two say how awful he is.”

“Carlie, the last guy stole your car.”

“I heard he’s actually Irish. Is his accent sexy?”

Yes. “No!”

“Carlie,” Lirines said sharply.

“Fine,” she hissed. “I’ll go, but I think it’s in your best interest to consider.”

“What?”

She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then to him, and then back to her eyes.

“Are you threatening me?”

Carlie sauntered out.

Anders looked to Lirine. “Is she threatening me?”

“You’re sleeping with him,” she stated, more a fact than an accusation.

“ _What._ ”

“Anders.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

Lirine rolled her eyes before looking back to her paperwork. “I know you, Anders. If someone who looks like that was looking after me the way he looks at you, I would be sleeping with them too.”

-

_Carlie has been asking about you_

Anders told himself he sent the message as a courtesy to Max and safety precaution for Carlie. Max didn't like questions.

Max didn't reply. Anders hadn't really expected him too.

Max never showed up with lunch.

Anders supposed he hadn't really expected him to do that either.

=

Despite their now token protests, Anders sent his assistants home hours earlier. He wasn't worried about being robbed. At first it was because they didn't keep any medicine of street value on the premise. Now Anders didn't worry because Max. More than anything the media could say, the worst Kirkwall had to offer knew Max Hawke.

Max Hawke who now stood across the street from the clinic, just below a lamppost. Anders' breath caught.

God, Max was beautiful.

The thought should have seemed strange, but for as unsettling as Max looked, too sharp of a face with too black eyes, Max was beautiful. Suiting his name, Max was like a hawk. He appeared sharp and intimidating, but looking at him straight on you realize how ridiculous and unreal he was. He looked so awkward and unbalanced just walking around, but when he moved it was like he flew, swooping and striking, fast, certain, and absolutely breathtaking.

Anders was in love with him in the worst way and he couldn’t even be sorry.

Hands stuffed in pockets, and hood up, Max watched Anders. He could feel it, that too black stare both pulling him apart and pinning him in place. The night felt too bright, lights reflecting on the rain wet asphalt and moon hanging low, yet Max still looked too dark, an outline of black under the streetlight.

Anxiety or anticipation, Anders swallowed it down. He wondered if they were going to talk about it. About Max not coming. Or about Anders sending a message hoping Max might not come.

Andere hesitated, unsure what Max wanted, before taking a step closer and then another. Max stayed in place, but he raised his chin. Normally so wobbly, so crooked, Max now stood solid, an almost tangible sense of entitlement over him. Anders swiped his tongue over his bottom lip before taking the last few steps to him.

With Anders close to him, Max lowered his head once more only to lean in and brush his lips against Anders’ cheek. Raising his hand, Max skimmed his fingers over the back of Anders neck before cupping the back of his head, tangling his fingers in his hair. When Max pulled him in, Anders went.

Max kissed him gently, so soft for someone so sharp, and so careful. Anders let him, for longer than he meant, before taking a shuddering breath and pressing for more. He reached for Max, hand sliding under his jacket and spreading over the expanse of his back, so warm even through layers of clothes. However, when he reached for his hood, Max’s hand caught his hand. He squeezed tight in warning, hard enough to hurt, and broke away.

Instantly suspicious, Anders leaned back. Max released him, distangling his hand and letting it drift from Anders’ head down his back before dropping to his side. Although their eyes met, Anders felt Max withdraw. He looked over Anders rather than looking at him. Chest unreasonably tight, Anders did the same to him.

Splattered in someone else’s blood, Max himself seemed relatively unharmed except for the streak of dried blood from under his hood down the side of his face.

“Max,” Anders said quietly.

“Anders.”

“Let go of my hand.”

Max did. Both of his hands returned to his pockets, leaving the space around Anders cold. Slowly, giving him time to back away rather than fight him, Anders reached for Max’s hood. Pulling it off revealed a gash running from his temple passed his hairline. Anders sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. Although it still oozed, a mess of blood and dirt had congealed to hold it closed.

Anders eyes darted to Max’s, but even under the streetlamp, his irises were too dark to distinguish the size of his pupils.

“You have a concussion.”

Max scowled. “You don’t know that.”

“Someone tried to bash in your head. You have a concussion.”

“Oh, thanks for telling me. Wonderin’ why I had a headache.”

“Max.”

Glaring, Max stepped back. Anders really didn’t like that. Everything in him urged him to follow, to gather Max to him and hold him close, but he knew Max too well to expect it to go well.

“You’re not stitching me up, Anders.”

“I never said I was going to.”

“You thought it.”

Frustration seeping into his voice, Anders argued, “why not?”

“Because I don’t need it.”

Anders arched a brow in a show of skepticism. “The open wound on you head says otherwise. Why are you being so difficult?”

“Because I don’t want to owe you!” Max burst.

Anders stopped, mouth halfway open to argue before the words registered. He closed his mouth and stared at Max, who stood with his shoulders hunched and defensive.

“What… What do you mean?” Anders asked. The meaning should be obvious, but Anders somehow couldn’t comprehend. “I don’t…”

“I don’t want to owe you,” Max repeated, now glaring at the ground. “You always help me, but you never let me pay you back.”

Anders stifled his laugh. “Max, that’s not how that works. I’m not a bank. You don’t have to pay me back.”

Max jerked his eyes back up, expression furious, accusing. “What do you want from me?”

“You don’t owe me, Max. Even if you did, I think saving me counts for something.” This time Anders did laugh, both from nerves and disbelief. “Is that really what this is about?”

“Shut up, Anders,” Max snapped. He paused for a moment, tick in his jaw, before lowering his voice and speaking again. “Everybody wants something from me. What do you want?”

The words twisted at Anders’ heart. How sad it was Max meant it, that it might be true. Everybody wanted something from Max.

And Max gave it to them.

Although he knew it must show on his face, Anders tried to keep the pity from his voice, but it came out too soft. “I just want to help you, Max.”

Tearing his hands through his hair, Max hissed in frustration. The head wound reopened, but he didn’t seem to notice, too focused on Anders. He took an aggressive step forward, back into Anders space, but instead of feeling threatened, Anders only felt relief to have Max close again.

“You let me in your bed. Fuck, you let me near you at all. What do you want from me?” Max’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him in. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous, “just ask.”

So close, mouths inches apart, Anders heart raced and his breathing came short. Involuntarily, his eyes darted down to Max’s lips before he forced them back up. Max stared back at him, eyes wide.

“Anders,” he barely whispered.

Anders laughed breathlessly. Before he could think about it, Anders kissed Max. Regardless of Max’s hand on him or what other intentions he might have, Anders tugged Max closer, forcing their bodies together. Instantly Max responded. He licked into Anders’ mouth and then nipped at his lip before catching his mouth again.

It didn’t occur to Anders until blood dripped from Max’s head onto his cheek and Max pulled away that they stood clinging to each other and making out in the middle of the street.

Blush rising to his cheeks and eyes intense, Max said, “come to bed with me.”

Without any clarification Anders knew what he meant. He knew Max didn’t ask to get in bed with Anders. He knew this wasn’t what they always did. Max invited Anders to his home and his bed.

Like everything with Max, it was a bad idea. Max thought Anders wanted something from him, not Max himself. Anders couldn’t even say he loved him. Max was destruction in his own life and to others, ready to wreak it at Anders’ word.

Anders couldn’t even say he loved him.

Anders would be dead before he told Max no.

“Let’s go to bed, Max.”

-

This time there was no car. Like any other day, Anders waited for the bus, only now Max was with him. They didn’t touch, Max didn’t even look at him, but when they got on, Max walked pass without swiping a card or paying a fee. When Anders tried to, the bus driver shook his head and nodded at Max’s back.

Everyone knew Maximilian Hawke.

Max led Anders to the back of the bus. Anders picked a seat near where Max stood, but Max didn’t join him. Instead he stood beside Anders, as if on guard, one hand on the bar and the other loose in his hoodie pouch. The bus moved, but Max didn’t except for his eyes sweeping over the occupants of the almost empty bus.

He didn’t look at Anders, but his presence was enough to cause Anders’ heart to race. The expected scent of gunpowder clung to him, and not unexpected scent of smoke and gasoline. It was enough, it was Max, to cloud Anders’ head. Max was more than enough.

They didn’t touch, but Anders could feel his heat. They didn’t talk, but with each stop the tension raised until Anders could barely stand it. He couldn’t help his eyes from going to Max only to jerk them away each time. He wanted to pull Max down himself, make him _look_. Anders wanted to look at him, wanted everything to be Max.

He flinched when Max’s hand touched him. Barely there, Max’s fingers grazed his cheek before catching loose strands of hair to tuck behind his ear. Anders eyes shot to Max’s face to find him watching from the corner of his eyes. Anders stared back, wide eyed, until the corner of Max’s lips turned up in a smirk. He looked away, resuming his watch of the people around them.

Anders face heated.

Like he was entitled to it, Max slipped his hand under Anders’ ponytail and swiped it aside to rest his hand heavy on the back of Anders’ neck. Unable to stop himself, Anders shivered under his touch.

The stroke of his thumb on the corner of his jaw could have set Anders alight.


End file.
